


What the Heart Wants

by LadySlytherin



Category: Batman Begins (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Crossover, Avengers Tower, Batman crossover, Emotional Manipulation, Infidelity, M/M, Post Avengers (Movie), Rating: NC17, Sexual Coercion, Slash, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summary is in an image - a cover-photo, if you will - that's visible once you open the story. <3</p><p> When he is given the choice between the man he never knew he wanted, and the man who is everything he could have ever dreamed...Steve must find a way to follow his heart without breaking theirs.</p><p> <a href="https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipN3iTWQ9Kmx3GTa3HJsvbO5Qt0LDFI0pzgj6Dz2vhXsAcnrrPkj0X23BpaqHgu3HQ?key=N0xVUVBuY2VEa3YycnViVkNka0dRUEhsaE0yYzZB&source=ctrlq.org"></a><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - A Bit of History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinmanstark](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tinmanstark).



> I do not often write outside the HP universe. I have written a single Avengers fic in the past, and got quite the response from it. And the friend I wrote it for…well, she gave me an idea for another one and that brings me to this. So I began to research and discovered the while Tony Stark was born somewhere around 1972, Bruce Wayne (who I knew less-than-nothing about) was born in 1915. Which I had no words for, because good god, that man is OLD. So I’m shifting Bruce’s birthday around and sending him to Eton at age 13, since he attends Cambridge at 14, to align properly with the time I’m sticking Tony there at 14, since he’s at MIT at 15. And god, could any of these characters or their Canon have cooperated in the slightest bit with me? Apparently not. So forgive any errors; forgive anything changed. I am mostly beating the characters and their histories roundly about the head to make them comply and, quite honestly, it’s a bit like forcing a hexagon-shaped peg into a star-shaped hole.
> 
> Also, the only movie I’ve seen in the set is “The Avengers” so don’t expect this to be all detail-oriented. If you’re looking for Canon-accuracy, I’m afraid your search has led you astray. I have seen several Batman movies (both the older ones, and the new ones with Christian Bale) and, I’ll be honest, I didn’t pay that much attention to the finer points of any of it. So there’s that to factor in as well. Basically, this is going to be a really weird, barely-smushed-into-movie-Canon, fic and you’re just going to have to accept it for what it is. I love comments and often reply to them; I appreciate errors being pointed out (though I may choose not to fix them); I despise flames and will become very snarky and Tony-esque if I receive them.
> 
> That having been said, I hope you can enjoy this for what it is. So…yes. Here’s my best effort. ~ LS

Anthony E. Stark – Tony, if you please – was absolutely miserable at Eton. He was about a thousand times smarter than any of his fellow students, but his father had _insisted_ he attend. Which was insane, because he’d be away at MIT the following year and he didn’t _need_ to attend some stuffy private school for kids _‘his own age’_ when he was so far ahead of them academically it wasn’t even funny. But Howard Stark held the checkbook, and therefore controlled Tony to an extent. So here he was, stuck at some prissy English school and hating it.

 

But what Tony hated more than the school was those actually _wanted_ to be there. And he made it a crucial part of his life there to torment those who stupidly enjoyed the horrible place. And Tony had just gotten wind of new meat.

 

Bruce Wayne, a child of wealth like himself, but orphaned. Wayne could have gone to school anywhere, or stayed at home with tutors, as he liked…but he’d _chosen_ to come to Eton. And Tony despised the small, quiet thirteen year old from the first moment he saw him. Bruce was a gorgeous little boy, in much the same way that – at fourteen – Tony was a stunning specimen of teenage boyhood. Both held themselves with an air of self-importance and confidence, but Bruce’s was quieter; subtler; softer. It was worn smooth by tragedy. Tony’s was loud, obnoxious, and in-your-face.

 

Both were also dangerously intelligent and there were more than a few faculty members who worried about the boys becoming friends.

 

On Bruce’s first day, Tony shoved the boy into a closet and jammed the door; Bruce climbed through an air vent and got out within an hour. Undeterred, Tony locked the boy in the boiler room next. An hour later, Bruce was seated in the Commons, reading a book quite placidly. Tony couldn’t understand _how_ and Bruce wasn’t telling.

 

Tony continued attacking Bruce Wayne – shoves, bumps, and arranging to trap him places – for over a month. Bruce bore it all with grace, never retaliating or lashing back. He also never stayed trapped for very long, which served to grudgingly impress Tony. As did his ability to take a hit without complaint or concern. Bruce never told on Tony; never ran to the faculty. He simply continued on his way as though Tony were no more bothersome than a gnat.

 

Finally, Tony had seen enough.

 

“So…you planning on stopping me, Wayne?” Tony asked as he fell into step beside Bruce. When the boy didn’t respond, Tony sighed and turned around, walking backwards so he could look at Bruce’s face. “Oh come on, now. No need to be like that. I’m just asking a question.”

 

“A question that has no real answer.” Bruce said softly, his blue eyes flicking up to meet Tony’s dark, curious gaze. “If I could _stop_ you, I would. But you’re older than me, larger than me, and stronger than me. So only _you_ can stop you. The most I could do is try to thwart your attempts. And what good would that do? It would likely only serve to antagonize you further and I see no benefit in that.”

 

Tony blinked at the boy, so surprised he stopped walking for a moment. Bruce didn’t and Tony was forced to jog to catch back up with him. “Hey, hey. Wait a minute! You can’t just drop a bomb like that – being all intelligent and shit – and then walk away!”

 

Bruce sighed and stopped, turning to face Tony. “What can I say that will convince you to leave me in peace? I have things to focus on and you’re distracting me.”

 

“God, you’re a stick in the mud.” Tony grumbled, shaking his head. When Bruce started to turn away, Tony hurried on. “Why are you here? I mean, Eton blows and I’d kill to be just about anywhere else, so why’d you pick this place? I mean, seriously.”

 

“It’s a temporary stop.” Bruce said softly, looking thoughtful. “I have many places to go; many things I need to learn. This is simply a stepping-stone, if you will.” Piercing blue eyes met dark brown and Bruce added. “I don’t see why it’s any of your concern, anyway.”

 

Tony grinned. And it wasn’t the sort of grin you’d expect on a fourteen year old – it was dark, seductive, and a little bit dangerous. He had just decided that Bruce was someone he could see getting to know better; someone _worth_ getting to know better. Intelligent people were hard to find; intelligent people in his social class were almost _impossible_ to find. Tony knew a hot-commodity when he saw one and he wasn’t about to let this boy slip out of his grasp.

 

So, smile still firmly in place, Tony drawled smoothly. “Because, Wayne, you’re my new best friend.”

 

Bruce stumbled slightly as Tony threw an arm over his slender shoulders; he hadn’t been expecting that in the slightest.  He shot Tony a quelling look and asked crossly. “Who said I even _want_ to be your best friend, Stark?”

 

“Everyone wants to be my best friend.” Tony countered cockily. “It’s a huge honor; trust me.”

 

And though he would forever wonder what in the name of anything made him agree to it, Bruce Wayne _did_ trust Tony Stark.


	2. Chapter One - An Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid confusion as the fic continues: Bruce Wayne will be called "Bruce" in narration and Bruce Banner will be called "Banner". In dialogue...well, I'll do my best to make it clear who's talking about whom. Sorry for any potential confusion. ~ LS

The Avengers Initiative was something Tony was inordinately proud to be a part of. It was the part of his life that stayed firm and solid, even when everything around him was falling apart. Like his relationship with Pepper, which had dissolved into nothing shortly after Loki’s attack and subsequent capture. Not that Tony blamed Pepper; he wasn’t exactly the sort to settle down into happily-ever-after. And he was glad she’d realized that before she couldn’t work for him anymore; before it destroyed their friendship as well as their romantic relationship. Tony just wasn’t the family-man-sort.

 

But the Avengers were still all in touch. Of course, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov were off on missions for SHIELD but they called and chatted on cam as often as they could. And Thor was back in Asgard, but they expected his return as soon as he got Bifrost fixed. But Bruce Banner and Steve Rogers had stuck around, and were staying in the newly-renamed Avengers Tower, in fact. And Tony was adapting to having roommates – of a sort, anyway – fairly well. He hadn’t had a roommate since his school days. Which reminded him…

 

“Hey, Cap…” Tony didn’t turn around from where he was pouring himself coffee, but he heard the rustle of the newspaper that signaled Steve was listening. “I wanted to let you and Bruce know that I’ve got a friend coming to stay soon. Not sure when, exactly, or for how long…but, well, there’s your heads-up, anyway.”

 

Banner snorted as he shut the fridge, a glass of orange juice held in one hand. “Not much of a heads-up there, Tony. Who’s the lady? An ex?”

 

Tony snorted, turning around and leaning against the counter , ankles crossed and coffee-mug cradled lovingly in his hands. “Not a lady, in the slightest. He’s an old friend, from school.”

 

“Oh? MIT?” Banner asked, intrigued. The good doctor wandered over to the table where Steve was sitting, the newspaper now folded in front of him as he studied Tony’s amused face. “It’s always nice to have someone intelligent to talk to. You aside, of course, Tony. But then, you know what I mean.”

 

“Not MIT.” Tony said, grinning. “Wayne and I go _way_ back, you see. Pre-MIT; when my father forced me to attend Eton briefly. He’s something of a genius as well, though, so I’m sure you’ll find him a fascinating conversationalist.”

 

Steve made a soft humming sound, then asked quietly. “And is it really wise having a civilian around for an unknown length of time, Stark?”

 

“Oh, Wayne’s hardly a civilian.” Tony laughed outright now. “He plays protector of his own city, though he’s still got a _‘secret identity’_ and all of that, the poor man. But don’t worry. He and I have known about each other from the start, practically. And he won’t run off with tales, or get in the way.”

 

“Wayne…Wayne…” Banner was mumbling under his breath, his brow furrowed. Then he looked up, surprised, and said. “Not _Bruce Wayne?”_

 

“Oh, so you’ve heard of him, then?” Tony grinned again, then sipped his coffee casually. “And yes, that _is_ him. Don’t worry; Wayne’s quite a bit like me. You’ll like him just fine.”

 

Steve snorted softly and shook his head. “Just what we need; another drunk playboy running around like he’s God’s gift to women.”

 

Tony chose not to dignify that with a response.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve Rogers walked out of the bathroom, toweling his hair roughly and not-much thinking about the fact that he was barely-covered by another towel slung low around his hips. He wasn’t thinking about it because, well, Tony was off doing something with meetings and lawyers and Banner was tucked away in the lab, tinkering. So there was no one to see anyway. When Natasha wasn’t in residence, they all often neglected to worry about something as unimportant as proper-clothing. Sort of like being in an all-boys-school. Or the army, back in Steve’s day.

 

So the sharp intake of breath – followed by the low wolf-whistle – had Steve’s head snapping up and around, searching for the source of the sound. The source, it turned out, was a man. A very attractive man, with dark hair and blue eyes, dressed in black slacks and a white button-up shirt that was half-unbuttoned and had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was barefoot and looked completely comfortable, lounging against a doorway. In the room behind him – one of the empty guest bedrooms Tony had put in – was a stack of suitcases, partly unpacked.

 

“Identify yourself.” Steve ordered sharply, in his best commander-voice.

 

A charming, rakish smile curved full, sensual lips and the man straightened away from the doorway. “My apologies. I’m Bruce Wayne. An old...ah… _friend_ of Stark’s.” His eyes moved consideringly over Steve and he added thoughtfully. “I must admit, you’re not exactly what I remember his type being…”

 

Steve’s eyes widened and he felt a dark flush suffusing his cheeks. “You…I… _no!”_ He stammered, completely flustered. “Stark and I are _not…_ no. No! I’m a…coworker. Of a sort. I stay here.  Ah, not _just_ me, I mean. There’s…there’s others. Other coworkers. Staying here.”

 

Bruce Wayne smirked, raising one eyebrow. “I see. Well, my apologies once again. I certainly didn’t mean to strike a nerve. Common misconception, is it?”

 

Steve gaped at the man in front of him. “No, actually, it’s not.” He finally bit out, straightening his shoulders and looking annoyed. “As I said, we’re coworkers. You just startled me.”

 

“Hmmm…” Bruce shrugged casually. “Well, as I’ve already apologized for my incorrect assumption…care to introduce yourself?”

 

Steve shook his head slightly, then held out one hand. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

 

Bruce’s eyebrows both winged up this time, nearly to his hairline. He took Steve’s hand and shook it firmly, looking impressed. “ _The_ Steve Rogers? As in, Captain America?” When Steve nodded, Bruce grinned. “Well, it’s a real pleasure to meet an all-American Hero like yourself.”

 

“Ah, well. Thank you.” Steve felt his cheeks flush with color again and he stepped back hastily. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just go dress. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be home…”

 

“Oh, of course.” Bruce was still smiling and it was somehow warmer than the cocky grin Tony typically wore, though it was accompanied by a similarly superior look in the man’s eyes. “I look forward to meeting you properly later, once I’m more settled and you’re properly attired.”

 

Steve just stared for a moment, then turned and walked away. He really wasn’t sure what to make of Bruce Wayne, friend of Tony Stark. He just wasn’t sure at all.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Tony stomped out of the elevator after his meeting and stormed straight over to the bar, immediately making himself a Manhattan. He was muttering darkly under his breath, not pleased with his board members in the slightest just then, and he looked up when he heard someone clear his throat. A defense was already forming on his tongue as Tony was expecting it to be Banner – complete with disapproving look – or Steve – complete with lecture. None of the other Avengers approved of his drinking, though at least Natasha and Clint kept their opinions to themselves.

 

Instead, he saw his oldest friend. A wicked grin curved his lips and Tony set his drink down before crossing the room and yanking Bruce into a tight hug. “Wayne, you little devil, you didn’t tell me you’d be here so soon! You’re lucky; I only just told my other houseguests about you this morning. How have you been, then?”

 

“Better…and worse.” Bruce answered philosophically, returning the hug. “You’re looking pretty good, Stark. Nice place.” He pulled back and added. “I met one of those houseguests earlier. He was wandering around in just a towel and I’m afraid I misunderstood his presence.”

 

Tony choked on his own spit, his eyes all but bugging out of his head as he sputtered. When he recovered a moment later, he managed hoarsely. “You honestly thought…good god, Wayne, come on now! Don’t get me wrong; the doc’s got a great brain. But he’s _hardly_ in my league, physically speaking.”

 

“The doc?” Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “Are you certain we’re discussing the same houseguest? Because the man I met was one Captain America. And, physically speaking, he was hardly someone to turn your nose up at. Even for a connoisseur like yourself.” Almost as an afterthought, he added. “Or myself, come to think of it. Either way.”

 

“The Cap is about as wholesome as any good old boy ever was.” Tony said, a strange look passing over his face for a moment. “Trust me. Best to stay clear of him in that sense. As I’m sure you realized when he flipped over your assumption.”

 

“Hmmm…” Was Bruce’s thoughtful reply.

 

Tony wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, so he decided against commenting on it. Instead, he changed the subject. “So, tell me all about your latest misadventures then, Wayne. Come on; have a drink and we’ll play catch up.”

 

Bruce readily agreed, but his mind was already elsewhere; namely, on one Steve Rogers.


	3. Chapter Two - Flirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, a brief reminder: In narration, Bruce = Bruce Wayne; Banner = Bruce Banner.
> 
> Second off, I know some of you are probably wondering when the "good parts" will happen. But Steve is an old-fashioned sort of man. So if you're looking for some quick man-on-man action, this isn't the fic. If you're looking for a shot of Stony smut, I do have a one-shot Stony fic that's pretty damned steamy, so please, feel free to check out "A Bet Worth Taking" in the interim.
> 
> Beyond that...well, you'll just have to wait while this builds. Don't worry; as anyone who's ever read my smut can attest - it will be well-worth the wait!
> 
> Comments thrill me to pieces; I love replying to them! Feel free to point out errors; I appreciate the help as I function without a beta most of the time. Flames will be duly shredded. Happy reading! ~ LS

When Banner and Steve came out to join Tony for dinner, he and Bruce were both lounging on the large, circular sofa that was sunken into the floor near the enormous television. They were laughing, drinks in hand, looking like the epitome of careless wealth. Banner made a small sound of disapproval, accompanied by a stern look at the drink in Tony’s hand. Tony raised it to his friend in mock-salute and took a large drink. Bruce looked between the two men, clearly not understanding the subtext that was going on and not over-inclined to ask about it.

 

Since Tony seemed disinclined to deal with the formalities, Bruce set his drink on a coaster on the low coffee table and stood, all polish and charm and poise. “Hello; I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Bruce Wayne, head of Wayne Enterprises, Gotham City. I’m visiting Stark for a little while.”

 

“So he mentioned.” Banner shook Bruce’s hand tentatively. “Doctor Bruce Banner. I…work with Tony, in a manner of speaking. I understand you’re in the same line of work yourself.”

 

“You mean technology?” Bruce asked, still smiling charmingly. “Yes, Wayne Enterprises and Stark Industries are technically rival companies, but we specialize in different things so…”

 

“I think he means your _other_ profession, Batman.” Tony said, still sprawled indolently across the sofa cushions. “These two are some of my fellow-Avengers.”

 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Bruce nodded slowly, his cheeks turning pink. “I apologize. I’m not quite used to being around people who can know my secret. Unlike Stark, I don’t exactly broadcast it. Though, of course, I knew Steve was Captain America when we met earlier. But I’m afraid I don’t know you…”

 

Banner was now looking uncomfortable, but he answered anyway. “I’m the Hulk.” It came out a bit terse, but that was understandable, considering.

 

Bruce simply nodded; he didn’t seem phased in the slightest. “Thank you for the clarification.” He smiled a little and added. “It must be nice having all these people – friends – who know. I’m afraid I’ve only got Alfred, my butler.”

 

“And me, of course.” Tony said pointedly.

 

“Yes, and you.” Bruce rolled his eyes a little. “And isn’t it ironic, that Stark is Ironman and I, his oldest friend, am Batman? Life is full of coincidences.”

 

Steve smiled slightly, and joked. “And here I thought _I_ was his oldest friend. You’ve certainly aged well then, haven’t you?”

 

Bruce seemed momentarily confused – his face was pleasantly blank – then he smiled and laughed, his blue eyes sparkling. “Oh, of course, because of the time you were frozen. That’s clever.” He flashed perfect white teeth at Steve in a dazzling grin and added. “You’re very amusing. Stark is lucky to have you. As a friend, I mean.” He added the last line with a small wink.

 

Steve blushed instantly, but smiled back. “Yes, well. He’s an okay sort to have as well. As a friend.” He then gave Tony a sharp look and added. “He’s a better friend when there’s no drink in his hand.”

 

Tony hissed in annoyance, glaring at Steve. “Must you, Rogers? Really? I am reminiscing and such with an old friend and you’re going to harp about a drink?”

 

“It’s my fault.” Bruce was instantly solicitous. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Stark wasn’t meant to be drinking, or I would have abstained myself. My sincerest apologies.” Bruce lowered those vivid blue eyes, looking abashed.

 

“I’m a grown man and I can drink if I damned-well please!” Tony snapped, feeling defensive as he always did when it was implied that he was an alcoholic. “Would you stop nagging?”

 

Steve’s spine straightened and he bit out. “I’m going for a walk. I think a bit of fresh air will help cool my temper, so I don’t put you through a wall, Stark.”

 

Bruce looked between the two men, and something shrewd and calculating crossed his face for a moment before he turned to Steve with a smile. “Would you mind if I accompanied you? I think I could do with a bit of air myself…”

 

Steve was surprised, but he nodded. “Of course. Are you familiar with New York, Mr. Wayne?”

 

“A bit.” Bruce admitted as he walked to Steve’s side, laying a hand lightly on the small of the other man’s back and gently guiding him towards the elevator, which opened as he added. “And please, call me Bruce…”

 

The elevator door slid shut, but not before Bruce had a chance to give Tony a smug, self-satisfied look that had Tony seeing red. Banner, for his part, wasn’t sure what had just happened but he had a feeling it wouldn’t end well.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Benefits and galas were part-and-parcel of the duties performed by wealthy billionaires such as Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne. They also went hand-in-hand with the lives of the Avengers, excepting Thor who still hadn’t returned. Bruce had been in New York for nearly a week and Tony was finding himself a bit annoyed with the man. Bruce seemed determined to spend as much time as possible with Steve and, though he couldn’t have said why, it was starting to grate on Tony’s nerves. So he was standing in a corner, glaring across the crowded ballroom at Bruce, rather than schmoozing all of the people he ought to be schmoozing. Bruce, for his part, was steadily closing in on Steve.

 

Now, let it not be said that Bruce Wayne wasn’t a good friend. He was; really. But Tony Stark and he had an unusual friendship, to say the very least, and he delighted in besting the other man. And it was quite clear that Tony had a thing – a yen, if you would – for Steve Rogers. And he wasn’t doing a damned thing about it. Perhaps…well, perhaps a little nudge from Bruce would get things going. And if he got to sink his teeth into the delicious Captain America in the process…well, then that was just the icing on the cake, wasn’t it?

 

Bruce Wayne was nothing if not an equal-opportunity lover, after all.

 

“Hello, Steve.” Bruce smiled easily at the other man. “I’m surprised you aren’t dancing. Surely you’re not bored so early in the evening?”

 

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t dance, actually.” He admitted this with a sheepish shrug. “I’m perfectly awful at it, in fact. I never…” Steve’s voice caught and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Never learned how.”

 

Bruce wondered for a moment what that hitch in Steve’s voice had been about, but he let it go in favor of continuing on a light note. “Didn’t I see you dancing with Stark’s ex, Pepper? And, of course, with that stunning redhead in the slinky black dress…I’m afraid I didn’t catch her name.”

 

“Natasha.” Steve told him, smiling again as he pushed thoughts of Peggy out of his mind. “She and Pepper both know I can’t dance and they’re good at leading. Most of the women here…well. It wouldn’t be worth the embarrassment to try.”

 

Bruce considered this for a moment, then asked. “Would you like to dance?”

 

“It doesn’t really matter if I want to.” Steve said, a bit baffled. “I told you; I don’t know how.”

 

“No, you misunderstood.” Bruce flashed that dazzling grin of his and held out his hand. “Would you like to dance? I assure you, I’m quite good at leading.”

 

“Oh.” Steve blinked, completely surprised, a dull flush creeping up his cheeks. He looked at Bruce’s hand, then at the sweet smile the man was giving him. And, swallowing down the fear over what he was about to do, Steve carefully took Bruce’s hand. “Yes, I suppose.”

 

Bruce continued to smile as he led Steve out onto the dance floor, tugging the man into the proper position for a waltz. He was just-slightly shorter than Steve, so he settled his hand on Steve’s shoulder and settled Steve’s hand at his waist; it wasn’t an issue for him to lead from the ‘female’ position of the dance, after all. Steve’s blue eyes were flitting nervously around and he was clearly resisting the urge to chew on his lower lip; Bruce could see it on his face and found it oddly endearing. It was clear the old-fashioned man wasn’t quite comfortable, but he was willing and that was a step in the right direction.

 

So Bruce squeezed the hand he was holding and said. “Just focus on what we’re doing, Steve; on the movements and the music-counts. You’ll be waltzing perfectly in no time. Trust me.”

 

Steve managed a weak smile as the music started again and Bruce used the subtlest movements and the slightest bit of pressure to guide his dance partner through the steps. After about a minute, Steve stopped looking quite so anxious, his shoulder muscles relaxing under Bruce’s hand. He moved a little smoother – a little more gracefully – once he stopped worrying so much. Bruce really was an amazing dancer and he effortlessly lead Steve around the dance floor without it ever being obvious that he was the one who was leading.

 

Steve managed a nervous, stuttering laugh when he glanced up to see Natasha’s stunned face whirl past; she was in the arms of some man or another, of course. “Ah, great. This is going to be something of a scandal, isn’t it?”

 

“What, us dancing together?” Bruce asked easily. He shook his head, gently nudging Steve through an elegant turn that, incidentally, brought them closer to the terrace doors. “Not at all. This is hardly the forties anymore, Steve. It takes more than two men waltzing to raise eyebrows in New York City.”

 

“I guess.” Steve still seemed a little uneasy, but he wasn’t retreating. Bruce had a feeling it would take _a lot_ to make Captain America retreat.

 

“No one expects the same things of you that they did before you were frozen, you know.” Bruce’s voice was gentle as he guided the other man to a stop just in front of the open doors that lead to the terrace and – beyond that – the garden. “I mean, you saving the day, of course…but beyond that. You’re not expected to have a wife, a house with a picket fence, a dog, and two-point-five kids.”

 

Steve blinked, then cracked a small smile. “That whole two-point-five kids thing always confused me. How is anyone supposed to have half of a kid?” When Bruce just stared up at him, Steve shifted a little restlessly and nodded to the terrace. “Ah, do you mind? I need some air…”

 

Bruce bit back a smirk and inclined his head graciously. “Of course.” He followed Steve outside, his hand resting a little possessively in the small of Steve’s back; he could practically feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on them and he didn’t care.

 

Once they were leaning against the railing, overlooking the moonlit garden, Bruce asked quietly. “So, do you want to talk about it?”

 

“About…what? The wife, the kids, the picket fence?” Steve shrugged, but his eyes were slightly out-of-focus, in the way that said he was seeing something other than what was in front of him. “I’d have done it, you know. I’d have married Peggy and been a good husband. I’d have given her children to love, and a home to tend to. I’d have treated her great. I never would have cheated; never would have struck her; never would have run off on her.”

 

Bruce nodded, considering everything Steve had said…and everything he _hadn’t_ said. “Would you have loved her?”

 

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed. Then he looked at Bruce, a mixture of sadness and confusion in his bright eyes. “I don’t know. I honest-to-goodness just don’t know. But I’d have given it my best. I’d have given _her_ my best.” He dropped his eyes to the ground and added softly. “I cared about her, anyway. A whole heck of a lot. I just don’t know that I ever thought I’d love _anyone_ , so what I felt for Peggy…well, it seemed like enough at the time.”

 

“And now?” Bruce asked, and his voice was a low, husky murmur as he stepped closer to Steve. “Now that you’re here, where you know things are different? Can you see yourself loving someone?”

 

Steve glanced up and sucked in a startled breath; he hadn’t realized Bruce had moved quite so close to him. They were practically touching, in fact. Swallowing hard, Steve struggled to answer the question he’d been asked. “Now…well, I guess I try not to think about it too much. But I guess…if the right…the right _person_ were to come along…” And that was _really_ the closest Steve could come to saying what he felt, but he knew Bruce would understand. “I suppose if that happened…well, yes. I could love them.”

 

Bruce nodded, locking gazes with Steve for a moment, before leaning in until there was nothing between their bodies but their tuxes…and nothing but the faintest bit of breath between their lips. “So…how would you know, then? If the right person came along?”

 

“I…” Steve’s heart was thudding loudly in his ears; the smell of Bruce’s cologne was wrapping around his mind like a spell. “I don’t know…”

 

And then there were no more words, because Bruce was kissing him.


	4. Chapter Three - Don't

Steve wasn’t sure quite what to do, because he’d never had another man’s lips on his before. But Bruce was smart and kept the kiss light; just soft brushes of lips. He didn’t push; he didn’t put his hands on Steve. Instead, their bodies just-barely touched from thigh-to-chest and their lips met with barely-there touches. And it made Steve wonder; it made him want _more._

 

So it was Steve who reached out, his hand slipping inside Bruce’s tuxedo jacket to settle – warm, even through the cloth still separating them – on the other man’s waist. And it was Steve’s mouth that softened, his lips parting just a little, encouraging Bruce’s to do the same. And when Bruce dared to let his tongue flicker out, carefully tasting the full curve of Steve’s lower lip, the blonde shivered and opened his mouth a little more.

 

Warm, moist breath passed between their lips; it was gentle and seeking and intensely intimate in a way neither man was quite prepared for, for very different reasons. Steve’s fingers clenched in the soft, white silk of Bruce’s shirt, pulling the slightly-smaller man just a little more snugly against him. And Bruce went willingly, though a small part of his brain was advising caution – this was swiftly becoming more than lust; more than a game. In the end, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the subtle taste of Steve on his lips, and his need for _more._

 

Bruce had just shifted one of his hands to Steve’s shoulder – his fingers clutching the black fabric and wrinkling it without thought – and let his tongue push forward into Steve’s mouth when reality found them.

 

“What in the name of fuck is _this?”_ Tony’s voice cut through the air – sharp and angry and just a little slurred around the edges. “Wayne, get your hands off the Captain _right now.”_

 

Bruce let Steve break the kiss and shift away from him with all of the poise and class bred into him, understanding that Steve was likely horrified at having been caught kissing another man. And as much as Bruce wanted to say something to Tony – something cutting and witty and full of snark – he knew it would only upset Steve. So instead he bit his tongue and tucked his hands in his pockets, saying nothing at all and simply looking between the two men curiously.

 

Steve stood there – just barely separated from Bruce, as he hadn’t moved far – and seemed at a bit of a loss for a long, tense moment. His eyes were locked on the ground, his cheeks were a dark red, and he was shifting restlessly in place. Then he looked up and his blue eyes were glittering; not with shame, as Bruce had half-expected, but with anger. Bright and burning, he pinned Tony with a cold look.

 

“You’re drunk.” Steve said it with all of the disgust he could manage when he was so embarrassed that he just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. “Aren’t you?”

 

“And what if I am?” Tony snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring blearily at his comrade-in-arms. “You’re out here, letting some…some _playboy_ shove his tongue down your throat and you think you’re going to make this about me drinking?”

 

“My private life is none of your business, Stark.” Steve said, anger creeping in to accompany the disgust still lacing his words.

 

Tony snorted in disbelief. “Oh, so you’re allowed to do whatever you want, no comments from the peanut gallery, thank you very much, but my life is open for discussion? I don’t think so, Rogers.”

 

Steve gritted his teeth, struggling to contain his temper. “My personal life has no bearing on you, whereas your drinking could very-well get me or the rest of the team killed if you’re drunk when something happens! So yes, in this instance, Stark, it’s open for discussion.”

 

“Go fuck yourself.” Tony rasped, looking murderous. Then he flicked his dark eyes to Bruce and they glittered with malice as he added. “Unless, of course, you’re planning to fuck _him._ In which case, please, don’t let me interrupt. I’d had to ruin the scandal before it starts.”

 

“Me choosing to start a relationship is hardly scandalous.” Bruce chided softly, giving Tony a cold look of his own.

 

“No, but you seducing and discarding the famous all-American hero is.” Tony snarled, his arms dropping to his sides as his fingers curled into fists.

 

“Temper, Stark. I can wipe the floor with you when you’re sober, let alone falling-down drunk.” Bruce said it with just the faintest hint of condescension; enough that Tony caught it, but Steve didn’t. “And who said anything about discarding him?”

 

“You don’t know how to do anything but use people.” Tony said. “We both know it, Wayne; you’re more like me than you’d like to admit.”

 

Bruce said nothing for a moment, just glanced at Steve. Then his lips curved up just a little and he murmured. “Maybe I just hadn’t met the right person before now.”

 

As Steve’s lips curved up in an answering smile, something inside of Tony twisted and shattered. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath; the air suddenly felt white-hot, as though it were searing his lungs. In a barely-there voice, Tony managed to speak. “I want you out of my Tower by morning, Wayne, is that clear? And if I see you again, I’ll break your face.”

 

Then Tony turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving behind a vaguely-smug Bruce Wayne and an incredibly confused – and slightly pissed-off – Steve Rogers.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The next morning, Bruce was neatly stacking his clothes in his suitcases when Tony stepped into the doorway. Bruce glanced at the other man, then turned back to his task, saying coolly. “I’ll be out of here within an hour, Stark. No need to hover.”

 

Tony watched him for a moment, then said softly. “You don’t have to leave.”

 

Bruce’s hands paused, then reached for another shirt and placed it in the suitcase. “Actually, I have a feeling I do.” He flicked his eyes to Tony and added. “Unless you’ve decided you’re okay with my seeing Steve, in which case I’d be pleased to stay. The hotels here are so damned pricey…”

 

Tony’s hands curled into fists and a snarl curled his lip. “You’ve got _no right_ , Wayne. What are you playing at, anyway?”

 

“What makes you so sure I’m playing at anything?” Bruce asked, finally turning to face Tony. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Steve is gorgeous, funny, sweet…why shouldn’t I take an interest?”

 

“Because…because you’re not good enough for him!” Tony spat, fury twisting his face. “He’s not your typical plaything, Wayne, and I won’t stand here while you hurt him!”

 

Bruce allowed himself to look wounded, placing a hand over his heart as he said. “Not good enough? I can’t believe you’d say something like that!” Then he lowered his hand and added tauntingly. “But it’s not really _your_ opinion that matters, is it, Stark? And Steve seems to like me quite a lot.”

 

Bruce smirked and continued. “And why does it bother you this much anyway? Don’t tell me you want Steve for yourself?”

 

 _“Don’t!”_ Tony rasped, his breath coming in harsh pants as his anger grew. “Don’t you _dare_ act like you know a damned thing, Wayne! Steve is a good man and you need to just walk away, before he ends up hurt.”

 

“You mean before _you_ end up hurt.” Bruce replied knowingly. Tony glared, but didn’t deny it. Bruce shook his head. “You’re a bit more pathetic than I remember you being, Stark. Must be the alcohol. You really ought to consider putting down the bottle and finding your balls.”

 

With a smirk, Bruce zipped his final suitcase and added. “Though at this point, it’s really just a bit too late, isn’t it? Steve is mine now, Stark. You’ve lost.”

 

Tony turned and walked off, but Bruce didn’t care. He had bags to move...and a date to prepare for.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve pushed the button to call the elevator, nervously smoothing his hands over his shirt. It wasn’t as nice as the outfit Pepper Potts had arranged for him to wear the evening before, but it was nice-enough for a night out. It was a short-sleeved button-up in a soft cream-color, and was made of super-soft cotton. It looked quite nice on Steve, especially when paired with the charcoal-grey slacks he had on. He reached up to rake a hand through his hair and the elevator opened.

 

“Steve!” Natasha stepped out of the elevator, smiling coyly. “Well, don’t you look handsome. And you’re going out?” When Steve nodded, she bussed her cheek to his and then stroked her hands over his shoulders, smoothing his shirt before purring. “Hot date, love?”

 

Steve’s cheeks flushed with color, but a small smile curved his lips. Natasha – who had only been teasing and had expected a denial – gasped delightedly. “Oh, really? That’s lovely! With whom?”

 

Clasping the back of his neck and peeking at Natasha sheepishly, he admitted. “Ah…Bruce. Bruce Wayne, I mean. The man who was staying here.”

 

“Oh! _Oh.”_ Natasha considered this for a moment, then she smiled softly. “Well, that’s very nice, Steve. I did notice you dancing with him last night, if you recall. He seemed like a nice enough man, though I didn’t meet him properly.”

 

“Don’ go.” Tony’s voice – low and pleading, and more than a little slurred – startled both Steve and Natasha. “Sss-Steeeve…don’ go. Not with hi-hiiim…” There was a faint whine to Tony’s voice as he stumbled to a halt beside Steve, his fingers curling around Steve’s forearm.

 

Steve looked at Tony, disgust scrawling across his face, and shook the man off. “You’re drunk _again._ And so I’m forced to repeat myself. My personal life is none of your business.”

 

“No…no, I _know…”_ Tony’s fingers found Steve’s arm again, greedy and grasping, clinging almost desperately. “But…but, Ste-eve…s’not right. Wayne…no. S’not okay. Don’ go…”

 

Steve felt something twist inside his chest; something hurt that he hadn’t realized _could_ hurt, and all he knew was that it was because of Tony Stark. Fighting against that hurt – against the shame clawing at his throat, a remnant of his previous life – Steve forcefully shoved Tony back, not even caring when the billionaire staggered and ended up on the floor. “Stay _out_ of my personal life, Stark!”

 

Natasha watched in silence as Steve stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button for the lobby. When the shiny silver doors had shut, she turned to look at Tony. Displeasure and confusion warred on her pretty face as she moved to crouch beside him, tsking softly. “So drunk you can’t even be coherent… _really_ , Tony. You’re a grown man. You ought to know better.”

 

Tony made a small, miserable sound, sitting up and scrubbing his hands roughly over his face. “He…he _went_ , an’…an’ I di’n’ wan’ him to…”

 

“And why not?” Natasha demanded, in a tone very-much like a mother to a naughty child who was having a tantrum. “Why ever not, Tony? You’re hardly in a place to cast stones at him for being with a man, making him feel ashamed as he did, the poor thing! It’s not as though you’ve not been with men yourself, after all! And with as hard as this must be for him anyway, considering when he grew up, he certainly didn’t need you telling him it was _wrong!”_

 

And as Natasha glared down at Tony, who wasn’t defending himself but was simply staring up at her, she suddenly realized something. It wasn’t anger or disgust on Tony’s gorgeous face; it was _misery._ His dark brown eyes were damp and his full lower lip was actually trembling. Natasha felt her own heart ache as she finally understood. Not just this moment, either, but all of the ones leading up to it as well. Tony and Pepper falling apart. Tony steadily drinking more. Steve’s complaints to her the evening before, when she’d arrived home in time to dress for the evening’s event, that Tony had been horrible in the week leading up to the ball. And now this; Tony lashing out in the only way he knew how.

 

“Oh, dorogoy…” Natasha murmured softly, reaching out to press her palm tenderly to Tony’s cheek. “I had no idea…”

 

“ _Don’t…”_ Natasha was surprised how clearly Tony managed to say that word. The desperation it held, and which shone in his eyes, didn’t diminish at all as he added. _“Please,_ ‘Tasha… _don’t_ …”

 

And because she understood his pain, Natasha kindly said nothing else. She simply sat down on the floor beside him and guided Tony’s head to her lap, carding her fingers gently through his dark hair while she crooned softly in Russian. She didn’t know if Tony understood her, but the words weren’t important. All that mattered was the lightness of her touch, and the sympathy it conveyed, as Tony shook with his sobs, the tears flowing freely now. She continued to murmur in her native tongue until Tony went limp and heavy beneath her still-stroking hands, asleep at last.

 

Then she sighed softly and whispered. “I’m so sorry, Tony. I wish you’d just told him…”

 

But she knew what it was to be afraid to love. And she wouldn’t tell Steve, because it wasn’t her place. He needed the words from Tony, or not at all. That was just how it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter...got a little out of hand. O_O I don't really know what to say, other than that. Well, I hope you enjoyed it - and all of the many feels it contains - anyway. Comments thrill me; I love to reply. If you notice a mistake, please point it out! ~ LS


	5. Chapter Four - Kiss Me Softly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, in narration: Bruce = Bruce Wayne; Banner = Dr. Bruce Banner. Just to avoid confusion.
> 
> Comments make me super-happy; I reply to them when I can/to answer questions. If you notice a mistake, please point it out so I can decide if something worth fixing. Happy reading!
> 
> ~ LS

Steve avoided Tony for the next three days. He went with Bruce that first night – out to see a movie, which he had only vaguely paid attention to – and had been apologetic after it was over, when Bruce noticed his distraction. But Bruce had accepted his excuses with grace and brought Steve home without fuss. Steve was now dressing – or rather, _attempting_ to dress – for another evening with the man, though he was having some issues with picking something to wear. Finally, after deciding he really was hopeless at this sort of thing, he stopped putting it off and picked up his phone.

 

Within twenty minutes, Pepper Potts was stepping off the elevator. She froze when she saw Tony, leaning against the bar and cradling his hands around a glass. She had gotten enough from the Avengers to understand what was happening. And as much as a small part of her was pleased he was hurting – because _she_ had been hurting since the day she realized Tony was in love with someone other than her – she really hated to see him destroying himself this way. Tony Stark was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a bad person.

 

“Hello.” She said it quietly, her face carefully blank and determinedly _not_ looking at the drink in Tony’s hands; she couldn’t bring herself to judge. Not when she was about to go help Steve get ready for a date with Bruce Wayne. “I’m just here to see Steve for a bit. I hope that’s okay.”

 

Tony looked up and Pepper felt her heart twist. Tony’s face was pale, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He looked a bit like death warmed over. “You’ve never asked permission before, Pepper.” Tony’s voice was weary and a little resigned as he looked back down at his drink. “Why start now?”

 

“I’m not.” Her voice was soft, but firm. “I’m just letting you know. We both know that if it bothers you to have me here, I’ll feel bad…but I’ll still be here. I was just…making polite conversation.”

 

Tony glanced up again and said softly. “It’s cola.”

 

“It’s…I’m sorry, what?” Pepper asked, clearly confused. She took a tentative step closer, then glanced at her watch; she really needed to get to Steve.

 

Her head came up in shock at Tony’s next words. “It’s cola. In the glass. What I’m drinking.” Seeing the look on her face, he added. “I know why you’re here, Pepper. Or I can guess, anyway. And I just…I wanted you to know that it’s not sending me into a bottle. Not again. I haven’t had a drink in two days.”

 

Pepper smiled, a genuine smile, and said. “That’s wonderful, Tony. Really.” Another quick glance at her watch and she added apologetically. “Steve is waiting for me…”

 

“I know.” Tony smiled weakly back and waved her off. “Go on, then.”

 

Pepper turned to head towards Steve’s room, though she paused in the doorway to glance back at Tony and say softly. “You really ought to tell him, you know.”

 

She hurried on before he could reply.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve smiled nervously at Bruce, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of the dark blue jeans Pepper had insisted he wear. They were snug, but not uncomfortable, so he’d agreed. They were paired with black-and-white sneakers and a simple polo shirt in dark green. He hadn’t been sure where they were going to go, but Pepper had assured him that if it was someplace requiring formal – or even semi-formal – dress, Bruce would have said as much. Therefore casual was the way to go.

 

For his part, Bruce was wearing loose, grey linen pants and a black tee-shirt, with black sneakers on his feet, so Steve figured Pepper had been right. As Bruce’s eyes moved appreciatively over his well-muscled body, Steve was suddenly intensely grateful he’d asked for Pepper’s help. He liked the way Bruce was looking at him; it made him feel hot and shivery. Steve let his own gaze move over Bruce’s body; the other man was certainly in-shape.

 

As Bruce took Steve’s hand and tugged him towards the car, Steve spared a moment to mentally thank God for the seventy years he’d spent asleep. While he normally hated that he was out of his rightful place in time, just then he couldn’t help being grateful. In his time, he could _never_ have gone on a date with another man. He could never have openly admired – or been admired by – another man. And unless he wanted to risk a serious beating, he couldn’t have leaned in and pressed his lips to another man’s cheek while murmuring a soft _‘I missed you…’_ in his ear. But here – now – he could. And it was great.

 

Bruce took Steve out to eat – someplace nice, but not _fancy;_ a little diner-style place that Steve actually felt comfortable in – and then they were back in the car, sectioned off from the driver by black-tinted glass. “So…” Steve smiled slightly at Bruce. “I…I wanted to say thank you. I’ve been having a great time with you.”

 

Bruce smiled back, charming as ever. “I’ve been having a wonderful time as well, Steve. I’m glad you agreed to go out with me. I admit, I was a bit worried you’d say no at first.”

 

“I…I won’t lie and say it’s easy.” Steve admitted, raising one hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I’m still adjusting to being out-of-place in this world. But some things – things like _this_ – make it easier to cope with. I never expected to live in a time where I wasn’t afraid of being found out; where I didn’t have to watch where my eyes wandered, or who I might find myself liking. It’s nice.”

 

Bruce was still smiling when he kissed Steve. It was their first kiss since that night on the terrace, when Tony had interrupted them. Bruce had been careful to take things slowly with Steve. He didn’t want to scare the other man away. But now, with Steve’s mouth softening under his, Bruce found he couldn’t control himself. He pushed on Steve’s shoulders, nudging the other man back against the seat, and swiftly straddled his lap. Steve gasped and Bruce growled, his tongue ruthlessly exploring Steve’s mouth while his hands slipped down to the blonde’s waist and began tugging at the hem of his shirt.

 

Steve immediately grabbed Bruce’s hands and forced them away from his skin, then used his grip on the other man’s wrists to force Bruce’s entire upper-body back from his – lips and all. Bruce strained forward for a moment, clearly not understanding, then went still in Steve’s grip. He had the most adorably-charming, confused, puppy-dog look on his face and it made something in Steve go soft and sweet and a little protective, but he didn’t release Bruce. His grip wasn’t tight enough to hurt the other man; it was just enough to restrain him.

 

“Steve…?” Bruce queried softly, blue eyes wide and puzzled as he blinked at Steve in the dimly-lit interior of the still-moving car. “Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No!” Steve said, so immediately it was a bit startling. Calming himself, he continued. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just…” Steve took a deep breath. “Can we talk for a minute?”

 

Bruce nodded slowly. “Of course. If you would just release me…” Steve immediately let the other man go and Bruce moved carefully off of Steve’s lap, sitting beside him. “What did you want to talk about?”

 

Steve took another deep breath; he wanted to make sure this came out right. “I want to make sure you understand. I know you know a little about me – about when I was born, and what happened to me with the frozen-and-asleep thing. And I’m adjusting; really, I am. I can use a cell phone now, and a computer a little. And I can work the television and the toaster and the coffee maker.”

 

Bruce was still staring at Steve with a quiet sort of bafflement. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me kissing you.” He reproved softly. “I was under the impression you found me attractive. Was I mistaken?”

 

“Again, _no_.” Steve said adamantly. “No, of course you weren’t mistaken. You…well, you’re gorgeous and you’re sweet and you’re funny. You never make me feel stupid when I don’t understand something, even though I know you’ve got a mind like Tony’s and I _am_ stupid, at least in comparison. And I really like you, Bruce. I do.”

 

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.” There was the faintest hint of sardonic amusement in Bruce’s voice, but it didn’t bother Steve. For some reason, that sort of thing didn’t bother him when it was Bruce doing it, rather than Tony; he hadn’t bothered to ponder why. “So what’s the but?”

 

“But I’m still a 1940’s guy. Just a kid from Brooklyn, in fact.”  Steve’s cheeks were stained rose-red and his eyes were cast down, locked on his fidgeting hands. “I don’t…I don’t do casual. I haven’t _ever_ done casual, because it’s just not who I am. I can’t…I _won’t_ just fall into bed. Not with you; not with anyone. I need you to understand that about me, because it’s not changing or going away. I need to know if that’s something you can be okay with.”

 

Bruce smiled, though behind it he was grinding his teeth a little. He really _did_ like Steve, after all, and the man was certainly worth all of the fuss and time. And he found Steve’s old-fashioned ideals sweet. Mostly, anyway.

 

So Bruce kept his voice soft and sweet as he answered. “Of course I’m okay with that. I hope you don’t think I was trying to push you, Steve.” Glancing over at Steve, he added. “You must know how attractive you are, though. I imagine I’ll find myself a bit caught up in desire now and then. But I will _always_ stop if you say no.”

 

Steve felt relieved; he hadn’t even realized how tense he’d been until the moment he relaxed. He had been so afraid Bruce would mock him and turn him away…but no. Bruce was sweet and caring and absolutely everything Steve could ever have dreamed. Bruce understood Steve, and completely accepted him, just as he was. It was so easy, in light of that, to lean in and kiss Bruce again. Because it was safe; because he could stop things whenever he needed to; because Bruce wouldn’t judge.

 

And as he carded one strong hand gently through Bruce’s dark hair, his tongue lightly tracing the line of Bruce’s teeth, Steve couldn’t help feeling like maybe – just maybe – he’d finally found the place where he fit in this place; in this time.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve spent the following two evenings with Bruce again. The first night they went to see a play on Broadway – one called “Wicked” that was some strange take on “The Wizard of Oz.” It was something Steve was familiar enough with to be able to follow, though it was a bit odd. They also took an evening carriage ride through Central Park – it was charming and sweet and Steve enjoyed having Bruce snuggled into his side as they passed through moonlight and trees and open areas. But Steve’s favorite thing was the theme-restaurant Bruce took him to the second night. It wasn’t like anything Steve had ever seen, but it was fun and amazing and lovely.

 

The restaurant in question was “Mars 2112” and Steve found it entrancing from the moment they stepped inside. The walls and ceiling and floor were made of fake red rock. There were dim, worm-looking lights that crept out of the walls and ceiling at twisting angles. There were rocket ships and flying saucers and the staff wore tinfoil-looking space clothing. It was everything Steve had once imagined the future would be – excluding the waiter dressed in a fuzzy purple alien costume, who was just strange – and yet everything it _wasn’t_. But in light of having adjusted to the _real_ future, Steve found the restaurant to be a delightfully amusing evening out.

 

He stared up at the girl – who had shoulder-length green hair and a shiny tinfoil-looking dress – who was dancing in a clear plastic bubble set about eight feet up the wall. Bruce brought his attention around by touching his hand, a soft smile on his lips. “Having fun?”

 

“Definitely.” Steve replied, grinning broadly. “This place is _great!_ I’m so glad you brought me here. I never realized places like this existed.”

 

“There are others, you know, with different themes.” Bruce told him, lacing his fingers with Steve’s and still smiling; Steve was a bit like a child at times, with the way he was awed by the world. Bruce found it amusing. “The Jekyll and Hyde Club is horror-movie themed, Alice’s Tea Cup is based on Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Max Brenner is devoted to dessert and sweets, and Ellen’s Stardust Diner is a fifties-themed one. Just to name a few.”

 

Steve was staring at him in shock. “Fifties-themed? Really?” He bit his lip, then asked hopefully. “Do you…I mean, would it be possible…”

 

“To go there? Of course.” Bruce had known Steve would like the idea of dining in an era so close to the one he’d left behind. “I’d love to take you there.”

 

Steve blinked; something was off about Bruce tonight and he wasn’t sure what. They’d finished dinner, and Bruce had paid, and they were simply lingering over coffee at this point. So Steve cleared his throat, which felt suddenly tight, and asked. “Can we go for a walk?”

 

“Absolutely.” Bruce agreed easily, standing and taking Steve’s hand again, lacing their fingers together once more. “Come on. We’ll take a stroll to the Empire State Building. I’ve always had a fondness for the observatory deck.”

 

Steve nodded and walked alongside Bruce as they left the restaurant and took the first turn off Broadway, walking up West 50th Street. They were both silent until they had walked passed Rockefeller Center. Then, as they made the left onto 6th Avenue, Steve cleared his throat again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, because he wasn’t sure what was wrong. He wasn’t even sure how he _knew_ something was wrong, but it _was._ He could feel it.

 

“Something you need to tell me?” He finally asked, very softly; his voice was barely-there. “I mean, is there something you want to talk about?”

 

Bruce sighed, giving Steve a rueful sideways glance. “I have to return to Gotham City.”

 

Steve stopped walking, jerking his hand out of Bruce’s. He stared at the other man in stunned silence for a moment, then turned to stare – unblinking – across the street, at Bryant Park. “So you’re leaving.” His voice sounded tinny to his own ears; almost echoing. “When?”

 

“In a day or two.” Bruce said it softly; gently.

 

It still hurt.

 

Steve’s breath stuck in his throat and his chest felt tight. He knew it was nothing physical; this was a purely emotional response. He couldn’t believe Bruce was _leaving._ He felt a hand on his arm and jerked away, unblinking eyes still locked on the park across the way. He didn’t want to look at Bruce; didn’t want to hear the other man’s apologies or excuses. He just wanted to be alone.

 

With that in mind – and nothing else – he turned and continued walking towards the Empire State Building. In his head, he mapped it out – seven more blocks on 6th, then a right turn onto West 34th, and then one block and a slight-left onto 5th and there was the building. It wasn’t far; it was a simple route. He could manage it in his sleep. He kept repeating the steps in his mind, struggling to ignore the sound of Bruce walking beside him; he’d been hoping the other man wouldn’t follow.

 

_‘Six blocks on 6 th, a right onto West 34th, one block and a slight-left onto 5th. Six blocks on 6th, a right onto West 34th, one black and a slight-left onto 5th. Five blocks on 6th…’_

 

The mantra circled round and round in his head as he walked, determinedly not looking at Bruce. He couldn’t do it. He just…couldn’t…

 

“Were you planning on telling me?” The words left Steve’s mouth with a mere three blocks to go on 6th and it was like they just sort of exploded out of him; like he couldn’t keep them in anymore. “Or were you going to just leave without saying anything?”

 

Bruce’s hand on his arm once more had him pausing; he had kept walking as he snapped out his questions mostly so he had something to do with his restless, angry energy. “Of course I was going to tell you.” There was a bit of chiding to that tone; it had Steve’s eyes dropping to the ground. “I was just trying to find the right time…the right way. I’m coming back, you know.”

 

“You…you are?” Steve silently cursed the hopeful note in his voice, but he couldn’t seem to help it; he desperately wanted Bruce to stay here, in New York. With him. “Really? When?”

 

“I don’t know exactly. A week…maybe two. There are some things I need to do.” Bruce started walking again, his face and voice thoughtful, and Steve trotted along beside him like an eager puppy. “I wasn’t planning on staying here long, you know. Just a quick stop on my way out of the country; I’ve got to lay low for a bit. It’s complicated why. But I can lay low here, I suppose. Which means arranging for living quarters that _aren’t_ a hotel, bringing in one of _my_ cars, and – if you’re agreeable – some of my crime-fighting apparatus. My suit, some of my gadgets…that sort of thing.”

 

Steve was nodding before Bruce even had a chance to finish asking. Though, to be fair, Bruce didn’t _actually_ ask; he just made it easy for Steve to offer. “Of course you can help out with the Avengers! I mean, I’ll need to talk to Fury of course, but he’s basically left me in command. And Thor is still in Asgard right now, so we’re down a man anyway.”

 

“Well, if you’re certain it won’t be an issue…” Bruce said, carefully masking the smug grin trying to curl his lips. “I’d hate to cause any tension.”

 

Steve cupped Bruce’s face in both hands and lowered his head, kissing the other man fiercely. “No issues. I promise. It’ll be great.


	6. Chapter Five - Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I finished this chapter yesterday, very late. And I'm posting it today, even though it's my birthday and I should be taking the day off.
> 
> See how much I love you?
> 
> So show me some love back (especially since, as I said, BIRTHDAY!!!) by leaving me kudos and comments on this chapter. Thanks so much and happy reading!
> 
> ~ LS
> 
> P.S. - Random references to "Undressed", "My Super Sweet Sixteen", "Sixteen and Pregnant", "Invader Zim", and the movie "Chicago" - I don't own any of those, make no money from mentioning them, blah blah blah...you know the drill. If you've not seen the first one...well, it's not bad. The next two? Count yourself lucky. The final two? WATCH THEM!!! Done now. ^_~

Steve waited until Bruce left for Gotham City to tell the rest of the team what he’d decided. He had already cleared it with Fury, who had basically said he didn’t give a fuck what Steve did as long as – when push came to shove – the job got done. Which was about what Steve has expected, since that was pretty typical of Nick Fury’s attitude on most things. He’d never really been one to care about the  “how” of something getting done.

 

So when Steve sat Banner, Clint, Natasha, and Tony down to tell them, it was with the full-backing of SHIELD. Sort of.

 

“So he’s gone to get his suit and his vehicle and such.” Steve explained, hands clasped loosely behind his back in the ‘at-ease’ military position. “He’ll be back in about a week. Two, tops, if there’s any hang-ups with transport of his things.”

 

“Steve…” It was Natasha who spoke and her voice was stern and not-pleased. “Do you really think this was the sort of thing you ought to have decided on your own? We’re meant to be a team. Adding an unknown into the mix, without discussing it with all of us…that’s just reckless.”

 

Banner was nodding along with Natasha. “She’s right. It’s one thing for the other guy to work with you guys. He knows you all and – excepting Thor, who he has a bit of an issue with at times – he likes you all pretty well. Adding an unknown to the mix…”

 

“Fury said it was my decision.” Steve said in his best soldier-voice. “I am the commanding officer of this unit, Natasha, and that means I’m the one who makes calls like this. It won’t be forever, unless it works out, and we’re down a man while Thor is in Asgard. I don’t see what the issue is.”

 

Natasha shared a look with Clint, then said coldly. “The issue is that I agreed to take this Avengers group on – in addition to my other duties at SHIELD, mind you – because I was informed it would be an equal-members team. I am not supposed to have a commanding officer, excepting Fury who is my superior anyway. So I don’t appreciate you coming in and barking orders and commands at me.”

 

“Don’t.” Tony’s voice was soft, but firm, and had Natasha casting a confused glance in his direction. Clint’s eyes flicked briefly to Tony as well, then away again. “Don’t go picking a fight. There’s no need. We can let Wayne train with us a bit; see how we all mesh. He’s not new to the game and he could be an asset. If he doesn’t fit, we end it. No problem.”

 

With Tony backing Steve’s decision, everyone’s protests quickly died away. There were a few minutes of discussion – training schedule adjustments and a rundown of upcoming missions for both Clint and Natasha – and then everyone began to trickle out.

 

Natasha was the last to leave – excepting Steve and Tony – and she paused in the doorway for a moment and said. “Work it out.” Then, she was gone.

 

Tony cleared his throat, walking over to the bar. Glancing at Steve as he stepped behind it, he saw the other man’s face tighten. Struggling to keep his own face blank, Tony poured himself a glass of cola with ice before he began to speak. “I haven’t had a drink since the day after our little altercation in front of Natasha.”

 

Steve’s surprise was palpable. “Tony, that…that was a week ago!”

 

“Eight days.” Tony corrected, dropping his eyes to the bar. “I don’t know how long I’m supposed to keep count for, but I expect Jarvis can always remind me how long it’s been if I lose track, so it doesn’t matter much, does it?”

 

“Eight days…” Steve repeated, still sounded completely stunned. “I…Tony, that’s great! What made you…I mean, why…that’s great.” He finished, a little lamely, not sure he should be questioning this sudden turn of events.

 

“Thank you.” Tony shrugged, a little discomfited, and explained softly. “I don’t think it was any one thing that made me, Cap. I just found it to be…counterproductive.”

 

“Counterproductive to what?” Steve asked before he could help himself. Then he flushed. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just glad. Really.”

 

Tony smiled slightly, his eyes still locked on the bar. “Just counterproductive in general. And again…thanks. I can’t say I’ll miss the nagging, that’s for sure.”

 

There was a pause, then Tony looked up, his face serious for once. “Look, Cap, I…I wanted to apologize. I didn’t…the other day, with Natasha, I didn’t mean being with another man is wrong. I switch-hit myself, so I certainly don’t think that. And I didn’t mean for you to take it that way.”

 

“How did you mean it?” Steve took a tentative step closer to the bar, curiosity driving him. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, because Natasha told me you didn’t mean it how I took it, but…I just can’t see what else ‘it’s wrong’ could have meant.”

 

“It was nothing.” Tony said, dropping his eyes once more. “I…it’s an old hang-up of mine. To do with Wayne and all. From when we were younger. I should have dealt with him, not you, and I’m sorry for that as well.”

 

Steve felt like Tony was lying, or possibly hiding something, but he didn’t want to push. Not now; not when things were going so well. So he just smiled and said. “It’s okay. Forgiven and forgotten.” Then, clapping his hands together briskly, he added cheerfully. “So, want to watch something on TV tonight? I know we haven’t hung out much lately, but I thought maybe we could. If you don’t have plans.”

 

Tony looked up, smirking. “Plans that are more important that shocking Captain America with the scandalous things on TV these days? Not at all.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I can be scandalized anymore, Tony. Not since you showed me that show…what was it called…Undressed? On MTV?”

 

“Oh, I’ve got bigger things to shock you with than that.” Tony assured him, a wicked glint entering his dark eyes. “Just you wait.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

After a week, Steve was convinced that the 21st Century was completely appalling. He had been made to watch several seasons-worth of ‘My Super Sweet 16’ – a show which featured whiny, over-indulged teenagers having complete and utter fits over not getting the exact, precise thing they wanted at the moment they wanted it, even as they were showered with things and money. And, if that hadn’t been horrific enough, Tony then made him watch the first season of ‘Sixteen and Pregnant” as well as it’s follow-up series, ‘Teen Mom’. Steve couldn’t believe that not only were teenage girls quite-often pregnant in this time, they weren’t with the baby’s father, they party, they fight…

 

Sometimes, he wondered what sort of world he was fighting to save.

 

Sensing he’d pushed Steve’s limits for a while, Tony backed off at that point and suggested they watch something light-hearted. Steve soon found himself enjoying a confusing, strange, and utterly insane cartoon called “Invader Zim” which he quite enjoyed. He liked the strange animation and the big-headed boy named Dib who thwarted the little green alien. And he liked Gir, the robot who was so adorable it was impossible not to like him.  But, most especially, he liked Dib’s little sister. Gaz, who played video games and was violent and aggressive and selfish, with her purple hair and goth clothes.

 

As the episode they were on came to a close, Steve nudged Tony as he reached for a handful of the popcorn that was between them. “Hey, does Gaz sort of remind you of Natasha?”

 

Tony froze for a moment, popcorn halfway to his mouth, then snorted and shook his head. “Oh, I’m so telling her you said that, Cap.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Steve retorted, laughing, as Tony grinned around the mouthful of popcorn he’d just shoveled into his mouth. “You agree, don’t you? I can tell.”

 

Tony shrugged, dark eyes shining with mirth. “Maybe, a little.” He admitted, then he flicked his eyes to the TV and said thoughtfully. “Maybe we should watch something else...”

 

Steve chuckled a little and rolled his eyes. “What, before we get ourselves into trouble or something, you mean? Yeah, I suppose. But what?”

 

Tony shrugged again. “Dunno. Something...flashy, I think. Jarvis...put on something flashy!”

 

“Flashy in what way, sir?” Jarvis’ voice drawled out, sounding a bit exasperated. “Flashy as in bright and loud? Flashy as in expensive and pretentious special effects? Flashy as in skin?”

 

“Jarvis!” Tony chided, grinning as he watched Steve flush. “You’ve made the good Captain blush. Everyone knows that’s my job!”

 

“So sorry, sir.” Jarvis replied, sounding completely unapologetic. “You didn’t answer the question, though, sir. What sort of flashy?”

 

“Oh, just put on ‘Chicago’ I suppose.” Tony waved the AI off.

 

“A bit of the first and the last, then? Very good, sir.” Jarvis immediately started the movie, ignoring the way Tony was laughing and Steve’s continued blush.

 

As the movie started, Steve couldn’t help smiling. Things were going to be much better now; everything was just about perfect.


	7. Chapter Six - Kiss Me Harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a tag. For those of you who are return-readers and thus might have missed it, the tag in question is "infidelity" and there was just no two ways about it; it had to be added. I love this chapter; it really captures a LOT of things that are so crucial to the story. I'm hoping you lot enjoy it as well.
> 
> Please leave me comments; they make my day and encourage me to write more!
> 
> Also...
> 
> **THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS M/M SEXUAL CONTENT**
> 
> Just so you know.
> 
> ~ LS

Bruce was going to be home soon. Steve could hardly wait to see the man again. It had been almost two weeks since Bruce left and Steve found he missed him a lot. Though he had to admit, it had been nice to spend time with the other Avengers. Especially Tony. Mending his friendship with the other man - still sober, three weeks in - was great. But still, he missed Bruce.

 

Steve was bored waiting - Bruce’s flight was delayed - so he wandered over to Tony’s workshop. The genius was tinkering away with his Ironman suit, modifying God-only-knew-what. It seemed like Tony was always messing with his suit, changing things, trying to make it better. Now was no exception.

 

The dark-haired man was shirtless, sweat glistening on his skin in the flame of the welding torch he was holding in one hand. The arc reactor glowed softly in the center of his chest and Steve swallowed hard before asking softly. “Jarvis, is it safe for Tony to be doing that shirtless?”

 

The AI chuckled softly, and said. “Since Master Stark’s shirt was covered in oil, Captain, it is actually safer than if he’d left his shirt on.”

 

Steve nodded slightly to acknowledge the reply, his eyes still on Tony. The man’s muscles shifted under his skin as he moved. His dark eyes were narrowed on his work and his expression showed his focus and determination. Steve knew that, despite having spoken, Tony was very-likely unaware of his presence. The man could tune out a bomb going off, if he was sufficiently immersed in a project. But Steve was content to watch Tony work. There was just something about the intent way Tony looked when he was working that made Steve go soft inside.

 

His fingers itching to sketch the other man, Steve’s gaze began to scan the work area. Tony often had pencils and paper lying around. Sometimes there were even full art-supply stacks, if Tony was in a frame of mind to remember how much Steve liked drawing the workshop and all its wonders. Which admittedly wasn’t often, because Tony was just too forgetful sometimes to remember to eat, let alone anything else, but that was okay. Steve would make do with a mechanical pencil and notebook paper if he had to. He’d certainly done it before.

 

Instead of art supplies, Steve’s gaze landed on a bottle of alcohol. He crossed to it and picked it up, the rapid movement within Tony’s field of vision catching the other man’s attention. Within seconds, he was clenching his fingers around the glass neck of the bottle, glaring at Tony. “What is this, Tony? Huh? Are you drinking again?”

 

Tony stiffened, then turned the torch off and set it in it’s cradle before answering. His voice was a low, furious hiss. “First off, Rogers, if I was drinking, it would be my business. Second off, you’ve got no right to speak to me that way. And third off, no, I am not drinking. The seal is intact.”

 

Steve’s eyes flicked to the bottle, which was indeed still sealed and without a single drop missing. Not backing down, he demanded. “Well, why have you got this down here at all?”

 

“Again, not your business.” Tony snapped, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “You’ve got some nerve, barging into my workshop and poking around!”

 

Steve took an angry step closer to Tony, glaring down at him. “Don’t you dare try to make this about me, Tony! Don’t you dare. This is about you and your drinking.”

 

“Fuck you, Rogers.” Tony spat, so angry he was shaking.

 

He reached out and snatched the bottle from Steve’s hand, turning and - in a single, swift motion - slamming it against the edge of the nearest counter. The bottle shattered, glass and whiskey flying everywhere. Then he turned back to Steve, still trembling, and glared.

 

“You’ve got no right to come in here and accuse me of anything.” His voice was a low, furious growl as he moved until he was only a hand-span away from the super-soldier. “I’ve been sober for three weeks and you know that. At this point, I think I’ve earned a little trust.”

 

Staring in stunned disbelief at the slow trickle of blood dripping from Tony’s cut palm, Steve managed to gasp out. “What in God’s name is your problem, Tony?” He didn’t understand why the genius felt the need to constantly self-destruct, but he hated it.

 

“My...my problem?” Tony repeated, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve got the balls to come into my workshop, hurling unfounded accusations at me, and now you want to know what my fucking problem is?”

 

Steve took a single step forward, nearly chest-to-chest with Tony who was panting in his anger, still shirtless and sweaty, his cheeks flushed with furious color. Glaring down at Tony, blue eyes flashing with the sort of rage only Tony could make him feel, Steve said coldly. “Yeah, Tony. I want to know what your fucking problem is.”

 

Tipping his head back to keep eye contact, Tony ground his teeth together and bit out. “You!”

 

There was a pause - a single, tense moment - and then Steve lunged.

 

Tony staggered back under the force of Steve’s body slamming into his until the small of his back met the counter he’d broken the whiskey bottle against. His hands curled around the edge, bracing himself, and then Steve’s lips were on his and he stopped thinking. Steve’s mouth was hard and demanding, his tongue slipping between Tony’s lips the instant he parted them. Tony’s lips parted further, his hands tightening on the counter despite the sharp pain radiating through his right palm. Nothing mattered except Steve.

 

Steve couldn’t think past the fire pumping through his blood. When Steve lifted his head, breaking the heated kiss, it roared in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of Tony’s ragged breathing and his own thundering heartbeat. It narrowed his field of vision - like a red haze - until all he could see was Tony’s dark eyes, bright with desire, and Tony’s full lips, kiss-swollen. One of Steve’s hands rested on Tony’s waist, savoring the feel of smooth, heated, sweat-slicked skin beneath his palm. Steve’s other hand came up to tangle in Tony’s hair, tugging hard enough to wring a cry from the other man as his dark head fell back, mouth slack and damp and panting.

 

“Steeeve...” Tony whined after a moment, still panting, arching his back to press himself closer to the super-soldier pinning him to the counter. Steve yanked on his hair again and he keened softly, before begging. “Please...fuck, Steve, please...”

 

Steve groaned; Tony begging had to be the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He leaned in and licked the exposed curve of Tony’s throat. He arched his hips, grinding his growing arousal against Tony’s stomach. Tony moaned as one of Steve’s thighs nudged between his legs, pressing against his erection. The feel of Steve’s well-muscled leg against his cock and of Steve’s own growing erection digging into his stomach had Tony’s hands leaving the counter’s edge to clutch desperately at Steve’s back.

 

Calloused fingers tangled in the white cotton of Steve’s tee-shirt, hastily dragging the fabric up until Tony could touch skin. He savored the feel of it beneath his fingertips for a moment before he was distracted by Steve’s mouth. Lips and tongue worked their way damply down his neck to the place where it met his shoulder, then Steve set his teeth to the tendon there. Tony groaned deeply, his hips jerking almost desperately, his nails biting into the small of Steve’s back.

 

In a hoarse rasp, Tony pleaded. “Shirt off...Steve...” His hands were frantically shoving the fabric higher, bunching it around Steve’s rib cage, but it wasn’t good enough. He wanted skin-on-skin contact and Steve’s shirt was preventing that.

 

Steve groaned again, then his hands were gone from Tony’s skin and hair. He took a half-step back  and Tony whimpered at the loss. But Steve was yanking his tee-shirt off, tossing it to the side, and then stepping close again. Steve’s head lowered, taking Tony’s mouth once more. Tony eagerly parted his lips, his hands sliding up Steve’s chest to his shoulders. Steve devoured Tony’s mouth, his hands settling on Tony’s hips and yanking the smaller man flush against him. Tony keened softly, breaking the kiss; he’d have bruises later from Steve’s hands, he was sure of it, but he didn’t care.

 

Steve stared down at Tony for a long, silent moment. His blue eyes were heated and Tony feared, for just an instant, that the Captain was going to come to his senses and end this. Tony didn’t know what he’d do if Steve pulled away; if he put a stop to the only thing Tony had ever honestly believed he couldn’t have. The one thing he’d accepted he wasn’t worthy of, and wouldn’t even try for. Because now, having tasted Steve, having felt the other man against him, he didn’t know if he could go back to pretending he wasn’t head-over-heels in love.

 

Instead, Steve slid his hands down to Tony’s ass and lifted the other man up, until he was perched on the edge of the counter he’d been leaning against. Tony quickly wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist and tightened his grip on the blonde’s shoulders; Steve didn’t seem to mind. He leaned forward, pressing Tony back, and used one arm to sweep away the paper and scattered parts and debris onto the floor so the man could lay down. Tony’s hands left Steve’s shoulders; he raised them above his head and clutched at the far edge of the stretch of counter.

 

Steve was above him, leaning down, one hand on either side of  Tony’s waist, and he snarled. “I am so sick of your attitude, Stark! This pity-me crap has to stop.”

 

Tony panted, staring up with dark, fathomless eyes, and spoke breathlessly. “Not...not really feeling a whole lot of self-pity at the moment, Rogers.”

 

“No?” Steve retorted as he leaned the rest of the way down, pressing his lips to Tony’s throat and flicking his tongue out to taste salt and soap and the acrid burn of Tony’s cologne as it seared across his tastebuds. “Let’s try to keep it that way. You drink again and I’m through with you. You’ll be off the team faster than you can blink.”

 

Tony laughed, dark and low and seductive, then purred and arched his back. “You’re good for a better buzz than anything in a bottle, Cap.”

 

Steve smirked against Tony’s skin, all teeth; there was just something about the genius that made everything in him feel hot and edgy and dangerous. Something about him that just wiggled its way under Steve’s skin, irritating and painful, until he wanted to snap and snarl. This...well, it seemed far more productive than a shouting match. The feel of Tony beneath him, willing and submissive, arching up to get closer...it was better than Steve had ever imagined it could be. He had never really understood just how gorgeous Tony was until just then.

 

Settling his hands at Tony’s waist, Steve lifted his head and locked eyes with the billionaire; he wanted to see Tony’s face. Steve tugged, dragging Tony down until the curve of his ass was resting on the edge of the workspace and their bodies were flush against each other. Tony’s legs were still wound around his waist and, with a low growl, Steve rolled his hips.

 

Tony gasped, his back arching. His hands clenched above him, his head pressing back so hard his throat was bared. His eyes closed and his mouth went slack and a desperate, needy sound spilled out. Steve had never seen anything as beautiful as Tony lost in desire.

 

Steve’s desire spiked and his hips moved again; a little faster, a little harder. Tony made another sound - louder this time - and arched eagerly to meet Steve’s continued thrusts. Steve growled again, the sound sending a shiver through Tony, and moved a little faster yet. Tony mewled and thrashed his head from side to side. He wished there weren’t still layers of clothing between them, but even with them the fact that it was Steve-fucking-Rogers who was grinding down into him made this hotter than anything else had ever been.

 

“Jesus, Tony…” Steve groaned, still thrusting into the smaller man. His eyelashes fluttered down, shielding vivid blue eyes, his hands tightening on Tony’s hips. “God…”

 

Tony keened loudly, his hands clutching at the super-soldier’s arms as he strained closer to Steve. He sat up as much as he could, his hands climbing higher on Steve’s arms, nails biting into muscle and skin with frantic desire. Steve’s arms slid from his hips, around to the small of his back, his fingers slipping just-barely under the fabric of Tony’s sweatpants. Chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach, and groin-to-groin; friction and heat and the slide of sweat-slicked skin.

 

Tony was close; he could feel the tension building – coiling tighter and tighter in the lowest part of his belly – and he strained towards it. Tony wanted it so badly; wanted to come in his pants from desperate grinding like some sort of hormonal teenager. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d come in his pants; it had to have been back before his MIT days. And that didn’t matter, because if anyone could bring him back to his teenage days it was the man he’d lusted after since way back then; Steve Rogers – Captain America.

 

Tony rested his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, breathing in heated, gasping bursts against glistening skin, his hips still moving frantically, his nails leaving little crescents so deep they welled with blood in Steve’s biceps. And Steve moved with him, his head lowering until he was nuzzling thick, dark hair and panting in Tony’s ear. Tony couldn’t help himself. His head fell back with a hiss, and Steve’s lips tasted his throat, and then there was tongue and teeth and Tony was climbing higher and higher and it was like he was made of glass and any moment now he was going to just shatter…

 

And then it happened. And in the moment it did – in the moment Tony pulsed, hot and wet and sticky inside his sweatpants – Steve raised his head and watched.

 

He just watched as Tony flew apart in his arms. Tony’s whole body tensed, his jaw locked, his eyes went wide and so dark they were practically black and then rolled back in his head, and he trembled. And the sight of it – of Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, climaxing against him; beneath him; because of him – was too much for Steve.

 

His mouth fell open and he gasped Tony’s name, his arms tightening around the smaller man, and he shuddered as he spilled himself inside his pants. It was the first time he’d ever come with the aid of another person and, somehow, it was so completely right that it was Tony; his teammate, his best friend, the man who’d done his best to teach him everything he could about the world he now lived in. And, because it felt so perfect, Steve buried his face back in that dark hair and held tight to Tony as they came down from the high.

 

A few minutes later, Tony pulled back a bit and Steve reluctantly allowed him to. Tony’s eyes were dark and sleepy, his lids half-lowered, and his mouth was curved into a soft, wicked smile. With a low, throaty purr, Tony asked. “Hungry, Cap? We could order in…lock ourselves in my bedroom…Jarvis will make sure we’re not disturbed. What do you say?”

 

Steve opened his mouth, the ‘absolutely’ already forming on his tongue, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Fumbling awkwardly for it, Steve’s heart stopped as he glanced down at the screen to see Bruce Wayne’s smiling face. Feeling numb, Steve flicked his fingers over the screen, answering the call. He moved stiffly as he brought the phone up to his ear. He opened his mouth, with absolutely no idea what he was going to say.

 

“Hello?” He asked, though his voice was a hoarse rasp that made him wince. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Sorry. You there?”

 

Through the speaker came Bruce’s dulcet tones. “Yeah, I’m here, Steve. My plane just got in, but my stuff should all have arrived and been brought to the town house I’m renting, so I’m free. I wanted to meet you for dinner, if you don’t have plans.”

 

Steve’s mouth felt like it was full of sawdust as he stared down into Tony’s confused, curious eyes. “No...” He managed in the barest whisper. “No plans. Where do you want to meet?”

 

“I was thinking that place I told you about.” Came the sweet, cheerful reply through the phone. “You know, that ‘50’s themed place? I need to shower first, of course, get the cabin smell off of me...”

 

Steve’s brain glitched a little at the word shower because he realized he needed one; it made him all-too aware of the swiftly-cooling stickiness inside his pants. And the idea of going to that diner - the one he’d been so eager to have Bruce take him to - considering what he’d just done...

 

“No.” It came out a little forceful, but Steve didn’t know how to fix that. “No, not there.” Thinking as fast as he could manage under the circumstances, he added. “I’m in the mood for Chinese food. If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

 

There was a pause, then Bruce laughed. “Well, all right. I like a man who knows what he wants.” The knife in Steve’s chest twisted a little as Bruce purred softly. “We can always order take-out and spend the evening in my new place...just the two of us...”

 

It was so close to what Tony had said...so close to how Tony had said it...that Steve couldn’t cope. His vision greyed around the edges and staggered backwards, slamming into a metal cart full of odds and ends and bringing it crashing down. Tony was yelling and running his hands over Steve’s body and Bruce’s concerned voice was coming out of the phone - tiny and echoing and distant - and Steve blinked rapidly to clear his vision. He hastily shoved Tony’s hands away from him, ignoring the hurt look on the man’s face. He couldn’t deal with Tony right now.

 

He stumbled to his feet, bringing the phone back to his ear and barking out in his best soldier-voice. “I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll call you in a little while to finalize plans.”

 

“Okay.” Bruce sounded puzzled and a little concerned, but he readily agreed. “I hope everything is okay. Do you promise to explain later?”

 

“Yes, of course.” Steve agreed, wanting to get off the phone and just go curl up and hide for a little while. “I promise. I have to go, Bruce. I’m sorry.”

 

Steve hung up the phone without waiting for a reply, then caught sight of Tony. The dark-haired genius was standing there - still half-undressed and delightfully rumpled. His eyes were wide and hurt and he was cradling his arm gingerly against his chest. Steve winced as he saw the way the skin of his forearm was beginning to turn purple and swell; he’d been awfully rough when he’d shoved Tony away from him and the other man was quite breakable when not in his suit of armor. Steve opened his mouth to apologize, but his throat felt tight and his tongue seemed too thick.

 

Swallowing hard against the tightness at the fearful look now tainting those dark, dark eyes, Steve managed weakly. “I’m so sorry...”

 

Tony managed a passable smirk and asked with forced casualty. “For what?”

 

Steve’s mouth moved silently, then he whispered. “I don’t know.”

  
Then, he fled.


	8. Chapter Seven - Forgive Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A coercion tag has been added for this chapter. Just for the sake of caution. :P Also, two reminders.
> 
> One: Bruce = Bruce Wayne; Banner = Bruce Banner when in narration. In dialogue...well. I'll do my best to keep it obvious.
> 
> Two: I know some comic-canon and a little movie-canon and that's it. So don't get all RAWR about Canon personalities. I know Bruce Wayne is OOC as he's a mega-douche. I don't care. He's my token asshole in this fic and that's just how it is.
> 
> I adore comments. Even argumentative ones. ^_^
> 
> ~ LS

Steve put Bruce off for the rest of the day. He just didn’t know what to say; how to explain. So he needed some time. To think; to decide. He spent two hours in a shower hot enough to scald, desperately needing to burn away the feel of Tony’s well-muscled frame writhing beneath him. It didn’t work, though. He didn’t know if he could ever forget that. It had been too much...too hot; too intense; too powerful. Steve didn’t know how to handle it.

 

So he did his best to push it out of his mind. When he went to grab breakfast the next morning, he avoided making eye-contact with anyone. Luckily, Tony wasn’t in the room, which helped. He imagined the genius was locked in his workshop, pounding out his brand of solutions on some hapless piece of machinery; that was Tony’s way of coping, after all. Banner was reading the newspaper and Natasha was delicately eating a frittata while watching Steve with too-keen eyes.

 

Deciding that getting out fast was the best option, he snagged a thermos and poured orange juice into it, then snagged a cinnamon-raisin bagel and rushed from the kitchen again.

 

Unfortunately for Steve, Natasha decided to follow him. “Steve, darling...” She called out, a little too brightly for her so early in the morning. “Just a moment, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Ah, well, actually...” Steve hedged, his eyes flitting nervously from side-to-side. “I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to go...”

 

“Nonsense.” Natasha said briskly, settling her hand on the crook of Steve’s elbow and gesturing towards the elevators. “I can walk you to the lobby while we talk.”

 

The firm edge to her voice let Steve know the assassin was dead-serious and he resigned himself to her probing as they waited for the elevator. “Fine. What would you like to talk about?”

 

Natasha tsked softly. “No need to be like that, Steve. I just wondered what has you in such a state this fine morning. I noticed you didn’t go out yesterday. I thought Mr. Wayne was returning?”

 

“His, ah...his plane was delayed.” Steve stammered, his cheeks flushed. “I just...I spent a little time with Tony and then went to bed early. I...” The elevator arrived and Steve separated from Natasha quickly. “Look, I have to go. I’m meeting Bruce. I’m sorry. We...we can talk later. Bye!”

 

Natasha watched with one arched brow as Steve jabbed at the close-door button as though it would somehow save him from her questions. As the shiny metal doors slid shut, Natasha considered everything Steve had told her - and everything he hadn’t. Then she turned, a small smirk on her lips, and headed towards Tony’s workshop. She had a genius to interrogate.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Natasha punched her code into the door, then growled when Jarvis informed her it had been denied. She thought for a moment, then smirked and punched in Steve’s code. Just as she’d hoped, the door slid open right away. As she walked through, Jarvis admonished her. “Agent Romanov, I don’t think Master Stark wants to see anyone just now...”

 

“Except Steve, since his code worked?” She asked the AI cockily. Jarvis didn’t reply, and Natasha shrugged carelessly. “Tony will get over it, Jarvis. We’ve things to discuss.”

 

Natasha padded - barefoot and silent - into the lab. She scanned the area, but nothing seemed out of place...though there was a bare stretch of counter on one of the work-islands. She scanned again, this time looking for Tony. She finally spotted him, curled up in the corner on the cot Steve had insisted Tony needed, considering how often he slept in here. She walked cautiously over, unsure if she should wake her teammate; Tony rarely got enough sleep, after all.

 

But as she stopped beside the cot, Tony’s dark eyes opened. He blinked sleepily up at her, taking in the peach-colored blouse and black slacks she wore. Then he yawned and stretched, greeting her. “Good morning, beautiful. What do you need?”

 

“Well. Someone’s awfully chipper this morning.” She was a bit surprised; she’d expected to find him surly and temperamental and, most-likely, sleep-deprived.

 

Then Natasha noted with interest that the white tee-shirt Tony had on didn’t fit him the way his shirts normally did - skin-tight, waist-length, and perfectly-tailored. It was loose around his shoulders and arms and chest, and a bit too long. The blanket Tony had draped over him shifted and Natasha’s eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of well-muscled thigh. Tony Stark was wearing a shirt that clearly wasn’t his...and no pants. Well, well, well...

 

With a saucy little smirk, and a raised eyebrow, Natasha purred. “Have a good night, Tony?”

 

Tony blushed. Natasha had to blink to be sure she wasn’t imagining it, but she wasn’t. Tony Stark was blushing. “Well...sort of.” He admitted. Then he grinned wickedly at her. “Guess who’s shirt this is.” When she just stared at him, Tony huffed in annoyance. “Come on...please? Just guess!”

 

Natasha opened her mouth - intending to say someone deliberately awful - when it clicked. Steve’s odd behavior; Tony’s sunny mood... “NO!” She gasped, both hands flying up to her mouth, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

 

Tony gave her a shit-eating grin. “Oh yeah, baby.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Who’s the man? Come on, Tash...say it. Who’s the man?”

 

Laughing despite herself, Natasha slapped Tony’s arm just a little too hard to be called playful. “Stop that, Tony! This is serious. You and Steve? Really?”

 

Tony’s carefree demeanor fled in an instant, replaced with a confused and slightly-miserable expression as he said. “Yeah. I mean, sort of. He...well, Wayne called after and he sort of...apologized and ran out.”

 

“Oh...” Natasha bit her lip for a moment, then sighed. “Tony, you know how hard this must be for him! He’s not exactly the sort to run around cheating. He’s too sweet for that.”

 

“No, I know.” Tony admitted, looking helpless. “It wasn’t planned, you know. I mean, it’s not like I jumped him or anything! It just...happened. And I figure he’ll need time. To sort this out and end things with Wayne and all. But then it’ll be great.”

 

Natasha looked at Tony’s hopeful expression and asked softly. “And if he chooses not to end things with Wayne?” She softly touched his hand. “Tony, you have to know Steve might choose him. They are dating after all.”

 

“Yeah, but...but Wayne doesn’t love him! Not...not like I do.” Tony protested, sounding rather like a child and making Natasha’s heart twist. “He...you weren’t here. You don’t know. It was so perfect...we were so perfect. Steve knows that.”

 

But Natasha thought of the guilty, unhappy look on Steve’s face...and the way he’d looked when talking about Bruce any time before today. And she just couldn’t share in Tony’s confidence. “For your sake, Tony, I hope you’re right.” She told him, giving him a small smile.

 

Tony didn’t reply, but the hope in his eyes worried Natasha. She really hoped Steve didn’t break Tony’s heart. If he did...well, Natasha had a feeling it would break Tony as well.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve parked in motorcycle on the street in front of Bruce’s new town house. As he hung his helmet on the handle, he took a deep breath and steeled himself. He could do this. He could. Taking another deep breath, Steve got off the bike and walked up to Bruce’s door. He pushed the little button to make the doorbell ring, struggling to keep his face blank as the cheerful notes chimed out.

 

When Bruce opened the door a moment later, grinning broadly, Steve felt the knife that had lodged itself between his ribs give a vicious little twist. “Steve!” Bruce immediately threw himself into Steve’s arms, nuzzling at Steve’s jaw and then leaning up to press a kiss to Steve’s lips. “God, I missed you!”

 

“I missed you, too.” Steve managed hoarsely; he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t a cheater; he just wasn’t. He didn’t know what had come over him the previous evening, but he knew it could never happen again and he knew he had to tell Bruce. So he added softly. “We need to talk.”

 

Immediately curious, Bruce stepped back and gestured inside. “Of course. What’s wrong?” Steve followed him to a living room where they could sit comfortable and Bruce asked. “Did something happen when you told the Avengers I wanted to help out?”

 

“No...no, that’s all fine.” Steve managed with a weak smile. “They’re willing to train with you and see how you fit with the group before passing final judgment.”

 

Bruce nodded slowly, not sure what to make of the guilty, nervous look on Steve’s face. He wondered if, perhaps, Tony had said something to Steve about his feelings. If he had, Bruce was pretty sure Steve would bail on their relationship to avoid hurting his friend. Bruce hoped that wasn’t the case; he’d come to enjoy Steve’s company quite a bit. And he was still hoping to get a few private memories of the good Captain before this whole thing was over.

 

“What’s going on, Steve?” Bruce lowered his eyes and bit his lip for a moment before shooting Steve a worried look from under his lashes. “You...you aren’t breaking up with me, are you?”

 

“No!” Steve blurted the word out without thought, then he winced. “No, I’m not. I just...I’m hoping you won’t end things after I finish telling you about...about what happened.”

 

Bruce blinked, then said cautiously. “What happened that makes you think I’d break up with you?” When Steve looked away, his eyes locked on the far wall and his hands clenched into fists, Bruce prodded a little sharply. “Steve, what happened?”

 

“I...Tony...” Steve’s jaw clenched and unclenched a couple of times, then he took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to face Bruce.

 

Steve’s face was the perfect picture of misery and contrition and guilt and part of Bruce thrilled at seeing it, though he had to wonder at what had put that look there. He got his answer a moment later.

 

“We were fighting...I thought he was drinking again. He said he wasn’t. We...we yelled. Nothing unusual, really, not for us, but then...” Steve swallowed hard, but forced himself to continue in a whisper. “I kissed him...”

 

Bruce blinked, completely taken by surprise. “I’m sorry, you what?” He gasped. “You kissed...Stark? You kissed Stark?” Somehow, that didn’t seem like enough to put that look on Steve’s face, though, even with his old-fashioned values, so he asked accusingly. “Was that all you did, Steve?”

 

Steve’s eyes were burning; he wanted to cry, but he refused to let himself. Men didn’t cry; soldiers didn’t cry...so he wouldn’t. “No.” He admitted, even though part of him wanted to lie. “No, that’s not all I did. I kissed him and I...we...”

 

“You...” Bruce prodded, his eyes narrowing. If Tony had gotten to Steve before he had, he was going to be very unhappy. “You what, Steve?”

 

“Isortofpinnedhimtoacounterandthrustagainsthimuntilwecame.” It all came out in one big, breathless rush because Steve knew if he took even a split-second to breath, he would fail to say it at all.

 

Bruce blinked slowly as his brain worked to decipher the blur of syllables that had been Steve’s rushed confession. When he figured it out, he let out a low hiss of displeasure. With narrowed eyes, he bit out coldly. “Care to repeat that, Steve?”

 

“I…I’d rather not.” Steve managed, looking so completely miserable that Bruce wanted to smirk. “I was…I was hoping you…understood what I said.”

 

Bruce pressed his lips together in annoyance, then asked. “You think I can just forgive you for this? You’ve been nothing but reserved when it comes to being with me and you just jump Stark?”

 

“I’m sorry…” Steve whispered, biting his lip and looking at Bruce with damp eyes. “God, Bruce, you have no idea how sorry I am. I…I don’t even know how it happened. I didn’t…God, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to apologize…”

 

Bruce could have crowed in triumph at those words, but he held back the urge. Instead, he spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “You say you’re sorry; prove it.”

 

“I…what?” Steve blinked, confused and taken aback. He didn’t understand what Bruce was saying. “How can I prove it?”

 

Bruce quirked an eyebrow and purred. “Surely you can think of some way to make it up to me, Steve…it’s only fair, after all.”

 

Steve looked uncertain, biting his lip again. Then he asked hesitantly. “You…you mean, you want me to…I mean, you want us to…”

 

“Stark obviously merited that sort of attention.” Bruce snapped, getting angry. “As your boyfriend, don’t you think I do as well?”

 

Steve stared at Bruce for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I...yes. Of course.”

 

Bruce immediately smiled sweetly and shifted closer to Steve, his voice a low, husky purr. “I knew you’d make it up to me, baby. I knew you were really sorry.”

 

Steve struggled to control the wild fluttering in his stomach; something about Bruce made him feel uncertain and awkward. The way he’d always felt around everyone before the serum; inferior. Trying to push past that - to recapture the confidence he’d felt the day before, with Tony - Steve cupped Bruce’s face in his palms and leaned in. Steve’s lips had barely met Bruce’s when the dark-haired man took over. In the span of a single heartbeat, Bruce was straddling Steve on the couch and devouring his mouth.

 

Bruce’s desire - his fierce, heated need - was like a tangible thing in the room. It washed over Steve like a tide: hot and powerful and overwhelming. It was thick and cloying and almost suffocating; Steve turned his head to suck in a breath and Bruce’s lips shifted to his throat. Steve whined softly, his head tipping to the side, as Bruce’s lips and tongue and teeth moved expertly over the sensitive skin just below his jaw. Bruce’s hands shifted to the hem of Steve’s shirt, tugging it upwards very deliberately.

 

Bruce leaned back far enough to remove Steve’s shirt completely and, for the first time, Steve let him. He then watched, his mouth dry, as Bruce removed his own shirt. The way Bruce moved was slow and sensual and it made Steve’s heart jump into his throat. When Bruce’s hands carded through Steve’s blonde hair, fisting gently and tugging his head back, Steve gasped and warmth curled through his stomach. Bruce captured his lips again, his tongue swiftly claiming every inch of Steve’s mouth. It was deliberate and calculated and Steve couldn’t help but succumb to the skillful seduction.

 

Steve’s hands came up, settling on Bruce’s waist and tugging the slightly-smaller man closer. Bruce let out a little hiss of pain at the strong grip and Steve instantly gentled his touch, but something in him cooled a little in that moment. He didn’t want to - he did his best not to - but part of Steve’s traitorous mind vividly recalled the way Tony had arched and writhed beneath him, eager and willing, even when Steve was bruising him. Steve  consciously pushed that thought away, determined not to compare that fevered madness to the softer heat he felt with Bruce. It wasn’t the same, but Steve told himself that was a good thing.

 

And he had to make this right.

 

Not knowing what else to do, Steve closed his eyes and simply gave in to Bruce’s desires.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Bruce kissed Steve goodbye a few hours later. As he shut the door behind the other man, he couldn’t keep the smirk off his lips. Steve had been as good as his promise to make things better. Steve had been hesitant and shy and uncertain, but had submissively allowed Bruce to strip him down and stroke him until he came undone beneath Bruce’s skilled touch. Then he had clumsily - but very sweetly - returned the favor, much to Bruce’s delighted pleasure. And if it wasn’t as far as Bruce would have liked to take things, it was about as far as he felt he could safely push just then. And they’d get there eventually.

 

Although Tony was clearly trying to steal Steve back,  Bruce had no intention of letting Captain America go without a fight. Steve cared about him, and felt guilty about his feelings for Tony, which would work in Bruce’s favor. And even if Tony won out in the end...well, Bruce would make damned-sure he got his fair share of Steve Rogers first. If was going to be a fight to the finish line, Bruce was going to do everything he could to make sure he crossed it first. Even if he didn’t get to keep the prize in the end.


	9. Chapter Eight - Trading Blows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, joy of joys, another chapter! I enjoyed parts of this one quite a lot, and other parts not so much, but that's just how it is sometimes, right?
> 
> We're getting into some of the thickness of the plot now, so hurray! Hope you all enjoy and remember, comments and Kudos make me SUPER happy! <3
> 
> ~ LS

Natasha Romanov had reservations about officially meeting Bruce Wayne. She trusted Steve’s judgment- to the extent she trusted anyone besides herself and Clint - but she prefered to make her own assessments about people. And she didn’t like the way this man was splitting up the team who had become very-nearly family to her. So the morning after she’d interrogated Tony, when Steve told everyone Bruce would be coming to train with them later that day, she said nothing and decided to wait and watch before making a decision.

 

But she didn’t like the way Tony’s face shut down, even as he agreed to give Bruce his own passcode for their training floor. She didn’t like it at all.

 

Steve didn’t care for the closed off look on Tony’s face either. And he knew he needed to talk to his teammate. And he had to do it before Bruce came over. So when Tony moved to take his coffee back to the workshop, Steve stepped in front of him.

 

Tony blinked up at him, then asked in an overly-cheerful voice. “What’s up, Cap? Need something?”

 

Steve nodded and said softly. “I’d like to talk to you, Tony. If you have a few minutes.”

 

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of time, or none at all, depending.” Tony’s smile was hard around the edges and his voice was just a bit brittle under the veneer of pleasantry. “What would you like to say? Because if it’s another apology...well, I’m quite busy. If it’s anything else...you just go right ahead.”

 

Steve’s cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat, his eyes flicking briefly to where Banner was pretending not to listen while Natasha and Clint watched openly. “I’d like to talk to you in private.”

 

“Oh?” Tony snapped, feeling his temper rise. He could tell by the shifty, guilty look on Steve’s face - and the fact that Bruce was coming for training - that Steve had made his choice. And Tony had no desire to be placated and condescended to by Steve Rogers just because that choice wasn’t him. “Well, I don’t see any reason for that, Rogers. I’ve got no secrets from my teammates.”

 

Steve’s mouth fell open as Tony set his mug back on the counter, leaned against it, crossed his arms over his chest, and quirked an eyebrow. Then he asked coldly. “So, what was it you had to say to me?”

 

“I...I just...” Steve stammered, looking between the others and Tony for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, raised his chin, and said firmly. “Just that it can’t happen again, it was a mistake, and yes, dammit, I’m sorry. I hope...that is, I never meant to...” Steve’s cheeks darkened and he finished in a rush. “I want you to know that...Ineverwantedtohurtyou.”

 

Tony stared at him for one long, silent moment, dark eyes glittering. Then they narrowed and Tony’s lip curled into a sneer. “You’re joking, right, Rogers? You thought...what? That I’d be panting after you now like some sort of lovesick puppy? Or some pathetic little fanboy?”

 

The look on Steve’s face said it all and Tony scoffed. “Oh for fuck’s sake, please get over yourself! How the hell you manage to walk around with your head that big...fuck! It was sex, Cap. Something I’m quite familiar with and certainly not something that I naively think has to mean something.”

 

Ignoring Steve’s furious, bright-red face and the surprise radiating from everyone else in the room - for varied reasons - Tony continued coldly. “Hell, it wasn’t even sex; just a bit of push-n-shove. You need to shake those old-fashioned ideals of yours, Cap, before someone gets annoyed.”

 

“Fine.” Steve managed in a hoarse, humiliated tone. “Sorry for bothering you with my old-fashioned ideals and the courtesy that accompanies them.” He flicked his eyes to the others once more and managed. “If you’ll excuse me...”

 

When Steve had left, there was silence for a few moments, then very cheerfully Clint said. “You’re a fucking bastard, Stark. In case you didn’t know.”

 

“Thanks, Barton.” Tony retorted, giving the assassin a very-forced smirk. “I hadn’t a fucking clue.”

 

“Happy to help.” Clint replied, raising his coffee mug in salute and going back to his crossword puzzle with a little smile.

 

Natasha sighed and stood, crossing to Tony’s side. She looked at him sadly, then stretched up and kissed his cheek. “I did try to warn you.” She chided, shaking her head. “Was that really necessary?”

 

“It’s better if he hates me.” Tony told her in a murmur. “Hurts less than his pity would.”

 

Natasha said nothing, but stepped back to allow him to leave the room. When he was gone, she said very firmly. “We are going to have to keep a very close eye on this, before it destroys the whole team.”

 

Banner sighed, finally looking up from his newspaper, and asked. “Can I just pretend none of this is happening? Because the other guy is pretty fond of Tony and I’d rather he didn’t kill Bruce Wayne, because that would be bad.”

 

Natasha couldn’t help it; the mournful look on Banner’s face made her laugh. “Yes, well. Who knows? Maybe Steve will open his eyes and see what’s right in front of him.”

 

Banner merely gave her a look, but Clint snorted derisively. Natasha sighed. “Yes, well. I said maybe.” And, really, there was nothing more to be said.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Tony was wearing nothing but black sweat pants. Shirtless and covered in a sheen of sweat that made his tan skin glisten, he was going to town on a punching bag. Though he often said he had no need to know how to fight - hand-to-hand combat was for plebeians who couldn’t afford the technology to make the physical aspect unnecessary - Steve, Natasha, and Clint had taken to sparring with each other and Tony didn’t like being left out. And they didn’t like fighting ‘Ironman’ so he’d been learning. Slowly, mind you, but still. He was getting there. Suit or not, Tony Stark was now far from helpless or weak.

 

It helped that he was sober all of the time now. Fighting drunk - in or out of his suit - really wasn’t the best idea.

 

Jarvis’ voice rang out as he kept punching the bag. “Sir, someone is attempting to access this floor. Should I allow it?”

 

Tony paused for a moment, then kept punching. “They got a code, Jarvis?”

 

“Of course, sir.” Jarvis replied primly, his voice echoing oddly through the training room. “I wouldn’t have even asked if they didn’t.”

 

“Then let them in.” Tony snapped, leveling a quick roundhouse kick at the bag. “The training room isn’t off-limits to those with codes unless Barton’s testing new arrows or Bruce is Hulked-out. You know that, so stop harassing me!”

 

“Of course, sir.” Jarvis replied stiffly, sounding every inch the British butler. “My apologies.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes and resumed taking his anger and frustration out on the bag in front of him. He ignored the soft ding of the elevator, and the subtle hiss of the metal doors opening. He didn’t care who it was; he just wanted to wear himself out enough to pass out in exhaustion. The soft chuckle had his spine stiffening, but he didn’t turn; he didn’t need to. He’d know that voice anywhere, after all.

 

“Welcome back.” He panted, still not turning. “Feel free to show yourself around. I’m sure the Capsicle will bring the others down soon enough.”

 

Bruce made a soft little sound of agreement. “I’m sure Steve will be along shortly as well. He does hate to be away from me, after all.” He watched as Tony paused for a moment before hitting the bag with renewed vigor and added casually. “I’m thinking of asking him to come stay at the townhouse with me.”

 

Tony stopped swinging and spun to face Bruce, his eyes burning and his hands curled into fists. “Rogers stays here in the Tower, Wayne. Avengers protocol. No exceptions.”

 

“Oh really?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I could have sworn one of your ‘Avengers’ was currently residing elsewhere already. Why couldn’t Steve do the same?”

 

“Thor is another matter entirely.” Tony bit out, grinding his teeth and wishing he had a picture of Bruce he could pin to the punching bag. “He’s from another planet. It’s hardly fair to keep him here all of the time and he had an insane brother to take home. When he returns to Earth, he’ll stay here as well. He has a room already and everything.”

 

Bruce shrugged. “Well, I think it’s Steve’s decision in the end, don’t you?” His smirk deepened and he gave a careless wave of his hand, adding. “Or you could simply allow me to stay here again. Since I’m practically a member of your little team. For the time being, anyway.”

 

“You are not an Avenger.” Tony snapped, his fingers curling tighter until his nails dug painfully into his palms and his knuckles screamed in protest at the unrelenting grip on nothing. “And I’ll burn the place to the ground before I let you spend another night under my roof. We clear on that, Wayne?”

 

“Temper, temper, Stark.” Bruce scolded condescendingly, sneering now. “You wouldn’t want Steve to catch wind of that bitterness, now would you?”

 

With hurt and anger licking heatedly at his insides, Tony smiled and purred cruelly. “And why not? As I recall, the last time the Cap got pissy with me, we both got off.”

 

Bruce’s jaw clenched and Tony felt vindicated for a split-second. Then Bruce’s blue eyes narrowed and he hissed coldly. “Tell me, Tony, have you had a chance to put your hands all over the delightful Steve? He really is perfect, you know. Every single inch of him.”

 

Tony’s whole world went red; in that moment, he hated Bruce Wayne in a way he’d never imagined he could hate anyone. He wanted nothing more than to curl his hands around Bruce’s throat and squeeze until those cold blue eyes bulged and he just fucking died. He struggled for a split-second, knowing he couldn’t kill the other man. Then his mind scrambled for a way to slap Bruce back. It came in an instant.

 

“I’ve got a question for you, actually.” Tony’s voice was disturbingly calm; almost casually-curious. The smile on his face made Bruce instantly wary. “How are you handling the bruising, Wayne? Because I have to say, I’m still sore...Steve’s just not good at remembering his own strength when he’s lost in passion, is he? And the way he bites...”

 

Tony made a soft tsking sound as he tipped his head, revealing the deep bruise still marring the point where his shoulder and neck met. Bruce’s eyes narrowed, then wandered down, taking in the bruises on Tony’s hips that were so clearly from Steve’s eager hands. Seeing the anger sparking in those blue eyes, Tony knew he’d managed to strike a nerve.

 

Never one to back away when he sensed weakness, Tony faked sympathy and said. “Oh no, was he not quite as eager with you, Wayne? Well...no matter. I’m sure he found some enjoyment anyway.”

 

Bruce sucked in an angry breath between gritted teeth, then let it out slowly. His angry expression smoothed out in an instant, though his eyes were still cold and hard as he said softly. “You might have gotten him heated up, Stark, but I am the one he ran back to. And I’m the one who gets to keep him. He’s mine, not yours. Remember that.”

 

Tony stopped thinking. He swiftly closed the distance between himself and Bruce, so furious he didn’t even hear the soft ding of the elevator. In a matter of seconds, he’d reached Bruce and swung. The solid crack of Bruce’s jaw and the way the other man crumpled was so satisfying that Tony wondered why he hadn’t hit Bruce a hell of a lot sooner.

 

As he stood over the other billionaire, who was tenderly cradling his face, Tony glared down at him and spat coldly. “Be grateful I’m even letting you set foot in my home, Wayne. Next time, I’ll personally boot your ass out. Remember that.”

 

“Tony, what is wrong with you?” Steve’s angry, shocked voice had Tony whipping around. Tony took a startled step back as Steve rushed over, kneeling beside Bruce and gently tipping the man’s face up, looking worried. “God, are you okay? Does it hurt? Should I get ice?”

 

“I’m fine.” Bruce soothed. He started to smile, then winced in pain, earning him a sympathetic sound from Steve. Dropping his eyes, he added softly. “Maybe that ice is a good idea after all...”

 

Steve stood up, rounding on Tony with a heated glare. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you better get it under control fast. Are we clear?”

 

“Steve, you don’t understand!” Tony took a quick step closer, his eyes pleading. “You don’t...I mean, I didn’t...he started it! I just...”

 

“You just thought punching him was the answer to a disagreement?” Steve asked, clearly disgusted. “You can’t fix a problem with violence! You...god. I can’t do this right now. I can’t even look at you right now. Just go away.”

 

Tony stood there for a moment, looking between Bruce’s smug, satisfied face - safely out of Steve’s view behind him - and Steve’s furious expression. Then he raised his chin and spat. “I want him out of my home, Rogers. And if you’re going to pick sides without knowing everything, you can go with him for all the fucks I don’t give!”

 

“Fine!” Steve turned and Tony noted that Bruce was back to looking pathetic and wounded, then Steve crouched and easily lifted Bruce into his arms. When he stood again, cradling the other man against his chest, Steve spat. “I’ll be back for my things later. We will talk then.”

 

And the order was clear in those words; it was both command and threat. A mocking sneer on his face, Tony jauntily saluted and barked. “Sir, yes, sir!”

 

Growling, Steve turned and stalked over to the elevator. Tony watched him go, hands curling into fists once more. When the little metal box had whisked away Steve and Bruce, Tony turned back to the punching bag and raised his fists. But with Steve’s departure, Tony’s anger had vanished. He was just tired now. So he turned away from the bag and walked over to the other elevator, pressing the button to summon it.

 

As he waited, he spoke wearily. “Jarvis?”

 

“Yes, sir?” Jarvis’ voice replied, sounding rather more cautious than an AI really should. “Is there something I can do for you?”

 

Tony hesitated for a moment, then sighed and nodded. “Yes, Jarvis, there is. I’m going to go lay down. Wake me when Captain Rogers returns and don’t disturb me for anything else.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Jarvis replied, almost gently...which was ridiculous, because Tony was pretty sure he hadn’t programmed the AI to be sympathetic. “And sir? If you like, I could send Captain Rogers a copy of the surveillance footage.”

 

“No.” Tony shook his head as he stepped into the elevator. “No, Jarvis. That won’t be necessary. If Rogers wants to know the truth, he can damned-well ask for it. I’m not giving him a fucking thing.”

 

Wisely, Jarvis said nothing else.


	10. Chapter Nine - Get Out

Tony woke with a start - sitting bolt-upright in his bed, tensed and ready to fight - when he felt the pressure of another body settle on the mattress beside his hip. When he saw who it was, he immediately relaxed and slumped back against the pillows. Glaring blearily at her, he grumbled. “How the hell did you get in here, anyway?”

 

Full lips curved into a smile that was delightfully, wickedly female and - for just an instant - something tightened low in Tony’s belly. Then her eyes and smile softened and Tony was once-again looking at the only woman he’d ever really _wanted_ to love. “If I told you that, I wouldn’t be able to do it anymore, would I? So I’m not telling.”

 

Tony draped an arm over his eyes, blocking the light but not her sympathy. “What do you want, Pepper? I am _trying_ to sulk in peace.” His tone was weary, not mean.

 

“Jarvis sent me a copy of the tape, Tony. So I wanted to check on you.” Pepper replied, patting Tony’s stomach lightly and smiling when his muscles jumped under her fingertips. “And I’m also here to give a bit of unsolicited advice.”

 

“I’m not a child who needs to be supervised, Pepper.” Tony suddenly dropped his arm, pushing himself to sitting and glaring at his ex; he’d had a thought and he didn’t like it. “You thought I’d be drinking again, didn’t you? You came to pull me back out of a bottle!”

 

“No, I didn’t.” Pepper met his gaze unflinchingly, completely calm. “I won’t lie and say the thought that you might be drinking didn’t cross my mind, because of course it did. But if you had been - if I’d come in to find you drunk and reeking of bourbon - then I wouldn’t have blamed you. Not in the slightest. Not considering what’s happened.”

 

Tony’s anger fled and he slumped again, feeling deflated. “Yeah, well. Sober as a judge over here. Jarvis really sent you the footage?”

 

“I am sorry, Sir, but you told me not to send it to Captain Rogers.” Jarvis’ voice rang out, not sounding apologetic in the least. “Miss Potts seemed like the natural next-best choice, under the circumstances, and I really felt someone ought to know what was going on.”

 

“Remind me to do something awful to your programming later, Jarvis.” Tony replied, too wrung out to think of a proper, coherent threat just then. “And next time, mind your own business.”

 

“Of course, Sir.” Jarvis replied, quite primly. “As you wish.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes, then huffed out an annoyed breath before looking crossly at Pepper. “You really didn’t need to come. It was nothing. Just a little fight.”

 

“A little fight over Steve? No such thing, Tony. Not when it comes to you.” Pepper patted Tony’s bare stomach again. “But if you don’t want to discuss it, fine. I’ll go.” When Tony looked skeptical, she added with a grin. “ _After_ a bit of advice.”

 

“I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.” Tony snorted, glaring half-heartedly. “It never is with you women. You always have to make things difficult.”

 

“Yes, we do.” Pepper agreed easily, still smiling. “Tony, my advice is simple and the same as it was the last time we talked. _Tell him._ He has a right to know.”

 

Tony stiffened instantly; his dark eyes shifted away from the earnest look on Pepper’s face. “And I’ve got a right to keep my feelings private, Pepper. I’ve got a right to protect myself as best I can, instead of laying it all out there so he can crush me.”

 

Pepper sighed, reaching for Tony’s hand and twining their fingers together. “Yes, you do. Of course you do. I get that. But Tony...you have to know that he can’t ever choose you if he doesn’t realize you’re a choice he _has_. Clearly he has feelings for you. Just let him know they’re returned; that he’s got a chance.”

 

When Tony locked gazes with her, looking miserable, she asked quietly. “Can it possibly hurt worse than not ever knowing, Tony? Can it hurt worse than always wondering what would have happened if you’d just told him how you feel? Because from where I’m standing...this has to be the shittiest option you’ve got.”

 

When Tony said nothing, just looked away and pulled his hand free from hers, Pepper sighed again and stood. “Fine. Be that way.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek, murmuring. “Tell him, Tony, or you’ll regret it forever. Trust me.”

 

Then, she was gone.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Steve stormed up to Tony’s bedroom door and raised his hand, prepared to pound on the wood until Tony let him in. Before he could, Jarvis spoke. “That won’t be necessary, Captain.” The lock on the door snicked and Steve growled as he opened it. “Master Stark is expecting you.”

 

Steve stepped into the lush opulence that was Tony Stark’s bedroom, kicking the door sharply shut behind him. He looked around, spoiling for a fight, and just got angrier when he didn’t see Tony anywhere.

 

“Where the hell is he, Jarvis?” He snapped, curling his hands into fists. All he could see was the purple-and-blue bruise marring his boyfriend’s face because Tony couldn’t talk like a normal adult and felt the need to use his fists instead.

 

“He is currently in the bathroom, Captain.” Jarvis replied with all the stuffiness one would expect from a real English butler. “He’ll be out in a few minutes.”

 

But Steve wasn’t feeling patient; he didn’t _want_ to wait. So he crossed to the door for the en-suite bath and yanked it open, ignoring the swirling steam that poured out. Storming into the misty, heated bathroom, Steve made it only a few steps before he was stopped in his tracks. Tony wasn’t just _in the bathroom_ ; he was _in the shower._ And Steve couldn’t help staring because, God help him, the clear glass door of the large shower gave him the perfect view.

 

Three separate shower heads pulsed water down over the dark head and tanned body of Tony Stark. Strong, capable hands worked lather through that dark hair, muscles bunching under sleek skin as he did so. Then Tony’s head tipped back and he ducked under one of the streams of water. Soapy water cascaded down that lithe, gorgeous body and Steve found himself panting in the hot, damp air of the bathroom.

 

Tony turned a little and Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Tony was now in profile and good lord, nothing had ever been as completely and utterly beautiful as Tony Stark, water rushing over him, naked and aroused and gloriously wet. Then Steve was proven wrong, because apparently the only thing more beautiful than a wet, nude, aroused Tony...was a wet, nude, aroused Tony _stroking himself._ Steve couldn’t believe what he was seeing at first, then he squeezed his eyes shut to block it out. But the image had burned itself into his retinas and he knew he’d never be able to forget it.

 

Tony’s head had fallen back as he leaned against one tiled wall, water streaming over him. One hand had reached down, fingers and palm curling around his hard cock. Then he’d _stroked._ Slow and steady, his teeth biting down on his full lower lip as he breathed harshly through his nose, steam swirling around him, Tony stroked himself.

 

Steve had to leave. He knew that. This wasn’t...he wasn’t meant to see this. His hand fumbled behind him, groping for the doorframe, desperate to get out before he was caught. He couldn’t help it though...couldn’t help opening his eyes for one last glimpse. He took a hesitant step backwards, eyes locked on Tony’s hand as it slid over slick, aroused flesh. Then, Tony’s lips parted and he moaned.

 

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat at the sound of his name, broken and needy, barely audible over the sound of the rushing water.

 

Tony was completely unaware of his audience; he was solely focused on himself. On the heat of the water beating down on him. On the swirls of steam as they skated over his damp skin. On the sharp points of pain that were his teeth sinking into his lower lip. On the feel of his hand, firmly stroking his own cock, and the cool tile against his back. His teeth released his lip and he let out a soft sound of pleasure; his tongue curled around Steve’s name without thought.

 

And within seconds - the space of a handful of heartbeats - Tony realized he wasn’t alone. A large, strong hand curled around his wrist and slammed it to the wet tile above his head. Tony’s eyes flew open and he gasped loudly as another hand curled around his cock. For one long, desperate moment, Tony thought he was dreaming. Because, after all, this was one of the things he’d been known to dream about. Being joined in the shower by Steve Rogers...being pinned to the tile by him...

 

But in his dreams, Steve was typically naked as well. And _this_ Steve was fully clothed - from scuffed sneakers, to blue jeans, to a white tee-shirt - and he was quickly becoming soaked. Tony gaped at him in silence for a long moment, then Steve’s hand tightened on his cock and he groaned. Steve made a sound - something near to a growl - and leaned in, sucking on Tony’s neck, just below his ear.

 

Tony hissed, his hips stuttering, and instinctively he pulled against Steve’s grip while his free hand pressed against the slick tile. “Fuck...Steve...” Tony gasped, arching his back, as Steve stroked him. “What...”

 

“Shhh...” Steve whispered, his teeth closing gently on Tony’s earlobe. His lips skated over the dark stubble on Tony’s jaw, then stopped at the corner of those full lips as Steve murmured. “No talking.”

 

Tony’s mouth opened and Steve covered it with his own, swallowing whatever words - protest, praise, or pleas - Tony might have tried to say. His hand left Tony’s cock and Steve pressed their bodies together while his now-free hand curled around Tony’s other wrist and dragged it up to join the one above his head. Tony whined softly as the rough, wet denim chafed his skin, but it was worth the slight discomfort to feel both of his wrists captured by one of Steve’s large hands. They were pressed firmly into the tile above his head and then Steve shifted back again, not touching Tony anywhere other than his restraining grip.

 

Tony blinked open eyes he hadn’t realized he’d shut and stared up at Steve, panting. His eyes were even darker than usual, the pupils blown wide with lust, and water beaded on his lashes. He yanked sharply against Steve’s grip, moaning softly when Steve immediately slammed his hands back against the wall with seemingly no effort. Then Tony arched his back, a sleek undulation of his whole spine, and let his eyes close halfway.

 

Steve growled again, a deep and possessive sound, then captured Tony’s lips again. His hand skimmed down Tony’s side - savoring the feel of slick, smooth skin beneath his palm - until he found Tony’s cock again. He curled his fingers and palm around it and there was no hesitation; no shyness; no tease. There was just the firm grip and the water-slicked glide of Steve’s hand and Tony arched into it desperately.

 

Needing more - mindless to anything but the heat driving him closer to the edge - Tony opened his mouth to Steve’s tongue. He felt surrounded - Steve’s mouth devouring his; Steve’s hand pinning him to the wall; Steve’s grip on his cock; Steve’s hard, muscled body right in front of him...

 

There was nothing in his world just then that _wasn’t_ Steve.

 

He sucked eagerly on Steve’s tongue, loving the way it made Steve shudder against him. Then Steve’s tongue curled, licking at the roof of Tony’s mouth, and it was Tony who was trembling, incredibly grateful for the wall at his back as his knees went weak and dizzy. Tony knew it wouldn’t take much to finish him off, and he was right. A few firm strokes, another lick to the roof of his mouth, and he was perched right on the edge, ready to shatter once more.

 

Steve broke the kiss, leaning in to press his lips to Tony’s throat, and growled an order in his ear. “Scream.”

 

Tony opened his mouth, intent on telling Steve just what he could do with that cocky, demanding attitude, but he never had a chance. Steve stroked him again and, just as he reached the tip, gave a wicked little twist of his wrist. At the same moment, he bit down hard on Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s back arched, his head slammed back into the wet tile hard enough to make his vision blur, and he did, in fact, scream.

 

Steve’s name was ripped from him, sharp and jagged, leaving his throat sore and aching even as the pounding water whisked away the slick, sticky mess he’d made.

 

As he slumped back against the tiles, panting and trembling all over, Tony was immensely grateful for the way Steve’s arms circled his waist, supporting him. He nuzzled his face into Steve’s chest, then blinked when he registered the feel of wet cotton against his cheek. He’d forgotten Steve was still dressed. Now, having remembered, Tony found himself wanting to touch skin.

 

Without a second thought, Tony’s hands scrambled for Steve’s waistband. Steve’s firm stomach clenched under his fingers as he struggled fruitlessly with the button. But the denim had soaked up a ridiculous amount of water and refused to budge. Tony whined softly, unable to keep the unhappy sound in even though it made his throat ache again. He yanked sharply on the fabric, unaccountably annoyed with it for not cooperating.

 

Steve huffed out a little laugh and stepped back a little, brushing Tony’s hands aside. With a smirk on his full lips, and a heated look in his blue eyes, Steve reached for his own fly. “Let me.”

 

There was an abrupt movement from Steve and the sound of fabric ripping, then the soft sound of metal hitting tile as the button bounced to the floor, then rolled to a stop on top of the drain. Tony’s eyes locked on that little brass button and he blinked slowly, his breathing ragged and his throat feeling like it was on fire, his body relaxed but shaking. Tony couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from that button, which seemed so out of place against the stainless steel drain set in the middle of the cobalt blue tiles that made up the floor of his shower.

 

Very slowly, Tony raised his head. His gaze moved over wet sneakers, denim-clad legs, and the bit of skin showing over the now-ripped-open front of Steve’s jeans. There was a tantalizing trail of golden-blonde hair, the enticing ridge of Steve’s hipbones, and a glimpse of the white waistband of Steve’s underwear. Tony’s eyes moved higher, over the nearly-transparent white cotton tee-shirt clinging to every delicious muscle Steve Rogers had - and there were certainly plenty of them, weren’t there?

 

Then he locked eyes with his teammate and something in his stomach twisted sharply. Steve had that look on his face - the one that he’d had that day in the workroom, which said quite clearly that he wanted nothing more than to devour Tony on the spot. And Tony cursed himself nine times a fool because he’d been perfectly willing to let Steve do just that. Steve had done this once already; caught Tony off-guard and pressed all the right buttons, then left him alone - feeling both lost and hopeful - to rush back into the arms of another man. And Tony would be _damned_ if he’d let Steve do that to him again.

 

Curling his hands into fists and gritting his teeth, Tony spat viciously. “Get. Out.”

 

Steve blinked; he didn’t understand what had suddenly come over Tony. “I...what?”

 

“Get. Out.” Tony repeated, his voice coming out harsh and gritty sounding, his throat still aching. He was trying _so_ hard to control his emotions. When Steve just stared at him, stunned, Tony felt himself start to lose it. “I mean it, Rogers. Get the fuck out of my goddamned shower!”

 

Steve took a confused step back, his brow furrowing. “Tony, I...what’s wrong? What did I do?”

 

Tony’s heart ached at the lost-little-boy look on Steve’s face; the sound of it in his voice. But he pushed that away, remembering the way Steve had _apologized_ the last time; apologized like _‘sorry’_ made it okay that he was ripping Tony’s heart out and watching him bleed. “You don’t get to do this.” Tony managed raggedly; panting now as he got angrier. “You don’t get to come in here whenever you want and just...just fuck with me; with my feelings; with _everything._ I don’t give a fuck who you are; _Captain-fucking-America_. You _do not_ get to do this to me!”

 

Steve’s eyes went wide and his mouth trembled. He took a stumbling step backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet, and slammed right into the glass door of the shower. “I...I didn’t...”

 

Steve’s mouth moved silently for a moment as he pushed anxiously against the door until it swung open, nearly sending him crashing to the floor. He barely caught himself in time, heedless of the water he was dripping everywhere, and he whispered. “I never meant to...”

 

“Don’t!” Tony snarled, tears stinging his eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare! Just get out! Get the fuck out and leave me the hell alone!”

 

Steve turned and ran, determined to get away from Tony - from everything crashing down around him - as fast as he possibly could. He stumbled through Tony’s bedroom, his hand sliding wetly against the doorknob as he tried to turn it. It took him a few seconds, but he managed it at last. He practically fell through the doorway, out into the hallway, not even bother to yank the door shut behind him. He just wanted to be anywhere but there.

 

He made it a mere two steps outside the door and then slammed into something; a veritable wall of muscle and heat. Staggering back, Steve blinked, dazed and not understanding for a long, long moment.

  
At last, it registered who he’d just slammed into and, gaping, he managed weakly. “Thor! You’re back...”


End file.
